


In Mountain's Shadow

by Anonymous



Category: TwitchRP
Genre: Asexual Relationship, Author doesn't know what they're doing, Domestic Boyfriends, Drama, Family, Friendship, Happy Ending, M/M, Other, Ranbot, Taking Liberties With Lore, Temporary Character Death, for the
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:33:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 35,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24778444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Machines malfunction. They fail, and they break, and sometimes they die.
Relationships: Robot & Gertrude, Robot & Molly, randy smith/robot
Comments: 13
Kudos: 17
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Something Minor

**Author's Note:**

> Self-indulgent outline turned 30k monster for pride - b/c gosh darn this funky lil shopkeeper & co gets me. Spent all month on this, thought I'd share in case anyone else needed something to read. 
> 
> Ambiguously set between the synth arc and the council elections. Hopefully no one is too jarringly OOC. I adore the Hive. First fic in years & no beta, so any mistakes are a big my bad. 
> 
> Thanks for stopping by! Hope you enjoy!

.♥.

A flutter of brown against a pale blue sky, and a happy trill of song that carried through the daily hum of human nature. A remarkable little show from an otherwise plain little swallow as it dipped and rose across the fields of Grapeseed, bound for its mountain home. Though the sight was far from uncommon, it nevertheless served as a pleasant reminder of life outside the city.

A life cut ruthlessly short by a passing shadow and the crushing grip of black talons. 

”Oh,” Robot’s shoulders dropped in disappointment as he watched the cloud of bloodied feathers twirl downward from their point of impact.

The android stood sans hat atop Robot Retail, a perch he had claimed in hopes of catching a pick-me-up of power from the midday sun. Lethargy was nothing new for a model of his pristine making, and he had certainly felt the drain of a trying customer earlier. 

Playing witness to the brutal murder of a local songbird, however, had come as something of a surprise. 

Shit happened, though, and while sad, Robot had certainly seen worse over the years. Besides, with the chime of a charge complete, the bird-eat-bird world of San Andres was no longer his concern. 

Twirling his bowler, Robot slipped it back on with a firm tug of the brim, hiding his baldness just in time for a familiar mint colored buggy to pull into the pumps. 

“Hi, Robot!” Gertrude called as she exited the vehicle, reaching in real quick to grab the keys and her sunglasses. 

“Hey, Gertrude,” Robot greeted, “How you doing?” 

“Good. Would be better if it would storm and kill this humidity already, oh!” Gertrude paused with her hand on the front door’s handle and squinted up at Robot, “Do you have any repair kits in stock? Molly wanted me to grab her some.” 

“Oh yeah,” Robot perked, “Just got a shipment this morning. Should be plenty still.” 

“Sweet – Thanks, Robot!” 

“Anytime. And thank _you_ for shopping at Robot Retail.” 

Robot caught the tail end of Gertrude’s chuckle as she headed into the store, a cheery ding announcing her entrance. His own amusement was interrupted by a chime of another kind – a happy note in the back of his mind telling him his charge was yet again complete. 

Huh.

Weird, but not unusual, and there were more important things to worry about than a glitch, seeing as Randy chose that moment to arrive on scene. Though, Robot supposed “arrive” was a bit of a loose term, since Randy tended to bring the scene with him. 

Done so at that moment by spiking Gertrude’s buggy out from between the pumps so hard it cleared the stream bed and ricocheted off the nearest building before it spun up and over and out of sight. Robot wagered someone’s day was about to be ruined, and was proven right a second later by the sounding off of explosions down the road. All while Randy nonchalantly exited his own misappropriated vehicle. 

“ _Randy,_ ” Gertrude burst from the store, dropping the repair kit she’d been about to buy, “My cock!” 

Randy’s bark of responding laughter was met with an all too well aimed fist, Gertrude as fast as she looked. 

“Ooh,” Robot winced in sympathy at the meaty thud. 

The gasp and hands clamping over her mouth seemed to indicate that Gertrude had hardly planned on connecting so well, let alone sending Randy’s glasses skirting across the asphalt. The loss of eyewear was not taken in stride, however, and soon the friends were two stepping in an unending circle of one-ups that had become the perpetual state of their relations. 

Safely perched atop his store, Robot was more than happy to watch, especially after Randy said something that had Gertrude squaring up. Robot leaned forward to keep an eye on the fleeing boyfriend and was suddenly met with a deep sense of vertigo. 

Robot stumbled away from the ledge, failing to notice the third charge complete in his haste. Balance restored, Robot took a moment to recenter himself. He was no stranger to the strangeness of human sensation, but the dizzy spell was perhaps a little disconcerting. 

Deciding it was best to go slow, Robot took a few testing steps, and when everything remained in check, made his way back to earth. He landed softly in the parking lot and straightened himself with a compulsory dust off before his attention was drawn to the others with a call of his name. 

“Robot!” 

“Randy!” Robot returned, that tender ball of warmth blossoming within over any previous worries as Randy skipped over. 

Robot could see his own bright smile reflected in the lenses of Randy’s recovered sunglasses moments before it was mirrored on his partner’s face. Then Randy’s hands were around his, and Robot was pulled forward for a quick kiss on the cheek. 

“Hey, Robot,” Randy greeted. 

“Hey, Randy.” 

“I love you,” Randy sing-songed and swung their hands. 

“Love you too.” 

“I know – Hey!” Randy released Robot and turned to talk while he walked backwards into the store, “Did you get my text?” 

“Uh,” Robot spared Gertrude a glance as he moved to enter after. Saved by the bell, Robot thought, watching Gertrude lean her hip against the nearest pump to take a call. 

Robot himself had felt the smart device vibrating in his pocket more than once that morning. Unfortunately, distractions came all too easily to him, especially while working. Which was perhaps an issue, Robot realized, considering that “text”, in the singular, had been a misnomer on Randy’s part. 

“Nno, not yet,” Robot said and discreetly cleared the 39 notifications bubble over Randy’s name. 

“Okay, so – long story short, I might be very rich, very soon – nothing illegal,” Randy assuaged before Robot could ask, “Just a civil suit on behalf of a very _fat_ client, if you know what I mean. And I think you know what I mean, baby.” 

“Oh, right,” Robot did know what Randy meant. Or, at least, he hoped he did. There couldn’t be that much code there, could there?

Randy moved to the back to grab a juice, Robot following, then snagged a bag of chips on his way to the counter. Instead of checking himself out, however, Randy hopped onto the Cherry Popper freezer and twisted the OJ open. 

“Gets even better, Robot,” Randy continued, “I don’t even have to do anything! I just need to take the call when it comes, spew the usual legal jargon, and then cash the check. Easy peasy!” 

“Nice. How much you making?” 

“No idea,” Randy took a long swig of juice that ended in a satisfied sigh, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then amended, “No less than 80k, though.” 

“Oh,” That number was a lot higher than Robot had expected, “Nice.” 

“Yeah,” Randy agreed. He set the bottle beside him on the freezer and then popped open the bag of chips, wasting no time in starting the munch, “But that’s any minute now. You wanna hang after?” 

“Sure,” Robot said. 

“Badass.” 

The pair sat in silence for a little while, Randy crunching away on his crisps, Robot watching. Thinking. Waiting. 

On flaky baked potato number four, Robot finally opened his mouth, “Randy you do know you have to pay for those eventually.” 

“No I don’t.” 

“Yes, you do,” Robot insisted. 

“No, I know the owner,” Randy countered. 

“Yeah. I’m the owner.” 

“And I love you~” 

“Then stop eating my stock,” Robot frowned, “I’m trying to run a business, Randy.” 

“And you’re doing a very good job, Robot,” Randy popped another chip, “But I have a special discount.” 

“What discount?”

“Boyfriend Discount.” 

“That’s not a thing,” Robot said.

“Says who?” 

“Says me.” 

“And who are you?” Randy asked.

“Your boyfriend.” 

“Exactly!” 

“Damn,” Robot placed his hands on his hips and looked away for a second before he gave in with a shrug, “Well, I guess that’s fair.” 

Randy wheezed a laugh into the next sip of his drink, “You’re so fucking stupid.” 

Robot chuckled just as the door dinged, admitting entrance to a tired looking Gertrude. 

“Robot,” Gertrude pleaded, sunglasses clipped into shirt collar allowing for the full effect of a mastered set of puppy eyes, “Your _boyfriend_ totaled my car. Can I get a discount too?” 

“No.” 

Juice sprayed from Randy’s nose, thankfully away from Robot, and he doubled over in a coughing fit. Gertrude ignored him, and instead crossed her arms in a pout. 

“Always knew you loved Randy more than me,” Gertrude mumbled. 

“WHY-” Randy choked on the exclamation, then took a deep breath and gave it another go, “Would you ever think otherwise!? 

“We,” Randy indicated himself and Gertrude with a hand wave, “Are not even remotely on the same level when it comes to Robot.” 

“Robot can love his friends,” Gertrude protested. 

“And I do!” Robot assured. 

“I do too! But are you and Robot 36 hours into a _Will & Grace_ weekend marathon? No, Gertrude? I didn’t think so,” Randy concluded with a small cough, taking another sip of his spoils. 

“Oh my god,” Gertrude massaged her temples, “Nevermind! Molly’s coming anyway, I’ll just get her to fix it. Least this means she can get her own kits, so thanks. I guess. For vaulting my fucking car into the bean dimension.” 

“You are very welcome,” Randy said. 

Gertrude folded her arms and leaned to rest against the roundello case, pretending to be more interested in her nails than present company. 

“Not saying you should, Randy,” Gertrude started, “But you should totally pay for my repairs.” 

“Nope.” 

“Robot!” 

“I am staying out of this,” Robot raised his hands and removed himself from the battlefield, retreating behind the counter. 

A wise decision it seemed, as the two friends fell into another round of bicker-banter. Robot only hoped that his store would be spared any sparks of inspiration between them. He could forgive one food fight, but just the one. 

Leaving them to it, Robot decided to play the responsible business owner and check the registers. The usual morning crowd had stopped by for their various takes on breakfast. And while Robot appreciated the round of loyal faces, he also knew if he wasn’t careful they’d be scrambling over single bills come afternoon. 

The first register dinged open, no trouble, and revealed an orderly and acceptably full tray. On to the next, Robot reached out to put in the pin and suddenly found the world tilting under his feet. He was quick to steady himself on the counter, and that bit of grounding proved to be what he needed to remain upright. 

Regrettably, the dizziness passed just to be replaced by a building white noise that gathered first on the right, then the left, then spread to the point that Robot had trouble hearing past it. In fact, Robot realized, pressing a few keys on the register as a test, the static was all he could hear. 

Robot looked to where Randy and Gertrude were conversing much more amicably. While he could see their lips stretching and pursing around their words, their voices were gone. And no matter how hard he tried to focus, they remained muted beneath the consuming static. 

Malfunctions were nothing new. They came with being the Game Boy infused construction of a coked-out old man. Although their familiarity didn’t make them any less unpleasant, and this one was uncharted. 

_Hey guys_ , Robot attempted to say, but even his own voice was drowned out. He managed something, though, because Gertrude and Randy had flinched hard at the same time. Conversation abandoned, they looked to him with twin expressions of pain, and Robot instinctively asked if they were okay. Neither appreciated that, however, and Randy full on cringed while Gertrude covered her ears and shouted something. 

Deciding to play it safe, Robot opted to go mute and shrugged to indicate he had no idea what Gertrude had said. He then held a hand behind his ear and shook his head.

That seemed to get the point across, and Randy rolled his eyes with a visible sigh. Randy tapped the back of his own neck, implying he intended to give Robot a restart. Robot gave the silent agreement and leaned forward over the counter to give Randy the access needed. 

There was a moment where Robot registered the touch of organic heat against the base of his skull, and then everything snapped to black, forgoing the warning that usually preceded his slips into oblivion. 

“Oops,” Randy hissed, surprised when Robot full on collapsed, strings cut, instead of sliding into a ragdoll. The boneless bot smacked into the counter before gravity unceremoniously dumped him onto the floor. Peering over the counter to make sure nothing had spilled, Randy found Robot resting peacefully face down and sans a puddle of robo cooling fluid. 

“Well,” Randy said, turning to Gertrude, “That was new.” 

“That’s never happened before?” Gertrude asked, trying to lessen the ringing in her ears that Robot’s blast of static had left them. 

“No, but if this is gonna be a regular thing, Robot and I are gonna hafta have a lil’ chat,” Randy was interrupted by a muted jingle, “Oh!” 

Randy delved deep into his coat pockets until he found the ringing phone. He headed for the door, already answering when he pushed out into the parking lot and called over his shoulder, “Thanks for getting Robot up, Gertrude, you’re the best! Yes, hello!” 

“Randy-” Gertrude went to protest, but Randy was already talking business, the door swinging closed behind him. With a small sigh, Gertrude turned towards poor Robot, “Fine.” 

Moving to kneel down beside Robot’s head, Gertrude made sure nothing had been knocked loose, just in case. 

In all honestly, she didn’t really mind rebooting Robot when he needed it. It was that uncanny moment right before the restart that unsettled her. That was when Robot was a little too still, and a little too quiet. The worst were the times when his eyes stayed open. 

Like right then. 

“Alright, Robot,” Gertrude said, “Let’s get you up.” 

Gertrude trailed two fingers along Robot’s neck in search of the small impression of the power button. Unlike some people, she didn’t quite have the spot memorized. 

“By the way, you owe me an ice cream.” 

Finding the plastic lined ring, Getrude pressed down and waited for the jaunty Windows Vista startup tune. Rather than the expected musical cascade and hello, however, she was instead met with the harsh note of an error. 

“Oh,” Gertrude snatched her hand away, startled by the short-tempered noise, “Okay.” 

She didn’t think she did anything wrong. 

That was all they ever had to do to turn Robot on, right? Press, wait, and yeah. So… 

Nothing to do but try again, she supposed. Which was a horrible idea, because that sound had been bad enough the first time around. 

“Uhhh,” Gertrude laughed nervously. Why had she been left with this again?

“Randy?” Gertrude called out. Though when she peeked over the counter, she saw the sought after robo handler fully engrossed in his conference outside. 

Okay. She could give Robot the ol’ third time’s a charm treatment, right? 

With a grimace of uncertainty, Gertrude once more pressed the power button. 

“Jesus, Robot,” She nearly fainted in relief at that stupid Vista startup. 

Grabbing the counter corner to steady herself, Gertrude watched as Robot blinked awake. He seemed to need a moment to reaffiliate himself with his surroundings, metallic brow pulling together as he scanned the area. Then his eye landed on the crouching Gertrude, and Robot had the audacity to smile. 

“Hey,” he said. 

“Hey?” Gertrude balked, “Hey!? That’s all you gotta say after giving me a fucking heart attack?” 

“Uh,” Robot blinked again, and ventured a, “Sorry?”

“You better be sorry,” Gertrude grumbled, but she wasn’t mad, not really, and her legs were cramping. 

Using the counter as leverage, Gertrude rose to her feet and reached down for Robot, who had started to stand on his own, “You alright, Robot?” 

“Think so,” Robot said and accepted the offered hand, allowing Gertrude to pull him up. 

Gertrude watched her friend while Robot brushed non-existent dust from his person. He kept glancing around, lips pursed in consideration as if he was trying to piece something together. She supposed, like any computer, Robot simply needed a little time to fully come online. 

“Yeah,” Robot said at last, “Sorry about that. Shouldn’t happen again.” 

“Have you thought about asking Fingle Dan to build you a new body? Or update your drivers?” Gertrude wondered, eyeing Robot, “You’ve been malfunctioning a lot lately.” 

Robot hummed, “Something tells me that might be a very bad idea.” 

“Yeah,” Gertrude conceded, considering Fingle’s track record with, well, everyone, “You’re probably right. Well, I’m glad you’re okay. You are okay, right? Nothing rattling around in there?” 

“I’m good.” 

“Good, then I won’t feel bad,” Gertrude sidestepped the counter and knocked Randy’s snacks aside as she grabbed a cone from the freezer and slipped out the door, “Thanks, Robot!” 

“Hey,” Robot protested, “My ice cream.”

.♥.

The benefits of living so close to a desert were never more apparent than those days when the sun simply existed. When the heat and the light permeated the iron of his skin and warmed the very binary of his code. Sometimes, Robot wished he could bask for hours, following the orange ball on its slow trek through the sky.

“Robot?” 

The soft utterance of his name managed to pull Robot from his afternoon reverie, and he reluctantly looked away. His eyes needed a second to readjust to the shade of the gas station and clear the bright light from his vision. When they did, he found Alice stood nervously in front of him, lip pulled between her teeth in worry. 

“Yeah?” He asked, voice unexpectedly croaky.

“You okay?” 

“Yeah,” Robot said, not entirely convincing, “Yeah, I’m good.” 

“You sure, Robot?” Alice asked, “Because you’ve just sort of been standing there, staring at the sun, for like twenty minutes now.” 

“Have I?” 

“Okay,” Alice moved forward and gently took the box Robot hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. Package safely set on the curb, Alice turned to place a guiding hand on Robot’s elbow and urged him towards the open cargo hold of the parked Mule. 

“Why don’t you take a seat, Robot, and I’ll bring you something to drink?” 

“Okay,” Robot agreed, doing as asked, and scooted up onto the truck bed. 

He felt the reduction in direct sunlight distinctly, though he was more concerned with keeping tabs on Alice as she stepped out of sight. If he had heard her right, he had apparently lost nearly half an hour of time. That was not good, and the last thing Robot wanted was to blink into an entirely different situation. 

Fortunately, Alice wasted no time in retrieving a large slushie from the self service machines and bringing it to him. 

“Here you go, Robot,” Alice handed the drink over, “I left a five behind the counter for ya.” 

“Thank you,” Robot said, “But you didn’t have to do that.” 

“You’re right,” Alice rested her weight on her hips and crossed her arms, “but you’ve already paid me for the shipment. So, I’ll damn well buy my friend a slushie from his own store with my own money if I want to. Got it?” 

“Got it.” 

“Good. Now drink,” Alice nodded at the red and blue concoction, and Robot didn’t dare hesitate to comply. With the first slurp of crushed ice through the straw, Robot looked for approval, and Alice smiled. 

“Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve a delivery to finish,” Alice grabbed the hand truck left against the bumper, “You just sit tight and relax for a bit, Robot, I’ve got this handled.” 

“Okay,” Robot said through the speaker on his bow tie. 

Robot had to admit, the cool fluid flowing to his equivalent of a stomach felt rather nice, and already seemed to be making a difference. He needed to start remembering to be more attentive of his charge levels. They weren’t infinite, and he hadn’t realized he had gotten so low so quickly. Extra labor required extra energy, after all, and biofuel was hardly difficult to get ahold of. 

Just as Alice was loading the last two boxes onto the hand truck, and Robot was slurping the dregs of his wild cherry blue raspberry ice, Robot caught the sound of a new car pulling in next to the Mule, out of sight. Alice ducked her head at Robot’s curious brow lift. 

“Hope you don’t mind,” she said, “That little glitch seemed like something she’d want to know about.” 

Robot frowned, confused, but Alice was already heading for the store. A moment later, Robot registered the shadow of someone coming around to him. When he saw who it was, Robot couldn’t help the widening of his smile. 

“Hi Robot,” Tombs said and set her car keys down on the truck bed, leaning into the shadow to escape the afternoon glare. 

“Hey,” Robot returned, “How you doing?” 

“Oh, I’ve been better,” Tombs admitted, and Robot noticed her gaze narrow in scrutiny, “But how about you? How are you doing?” 

“I’m doing good, doing good. Hope your day gets better, though.” 

“We’ll see.” 

Without warning, Tombs placed the back of her hand to Robot’s forehead and hummed curiously, then did the same to his cheek. She herself was warm from being out in the summer day, but still cooler than his metal hull. 

Maybe recognizing the futility of her action, Tombs leaned back and crossed her arms much like Alice had. 

“So what’s going on?” Tombs asked. 

“What do ya mean?” 

“Y’know Rori called me,” Tombs stated, “She sounded very worried about you.” 

“Wasn’t that a while ago?” And Robot thought they had managed to clear up the misunderstanding. He hoped Rori hadn’t still been concerned about the frequency of his malfunctions after they had said goodnight. 

“And today I get a very similar call from Alice,” Tombs explained. 

“Oh right. Well, you know how poorly I’m built.” 

“That’s precisely why I’m worried, Robot,” Tombs uncrossed her arms and put a gentle hand on Robot’s shoulder, “Tell me the truth. Are you okay?”

“I think Robot needs a new charge cord,” Alice interrupted, sliding the now empty hand truck into the Mule next to Robot, “You’re looking a lot better since we got that extra fuel into you.” 

“You having charging problems?” Tombs demanded. 

Robot shrugged, “Not that I’ve noticed.” 

“You might not,” Alice said, “Low energy can cause some confusion, like low blood sugar in humans. We should still have you run a diagnostic though.” 

“Uh,” Robot hoped the next bit of news went over well, “I would need an admin command to do that.” 

“Who were your admins again?” Tombs asked - 

“Tony Rico.” 

\- Then scoffed, “That’s not happening. Next.”

“Sarsaparilla Rex.” 

“How would…” Alice frowned, “How does that even work?” 

“Eh, I make do,” Robot continued, “There’s also Anonymous.” 

“Nuh-uh,” Tombs shook her head, “I like the guy, but there is no way in hell I am trusting Fingle Dan to open you up.” 

“Well,” Robot said, “Last but not least, and probably your only option, is Molly Darling.” 

“Who is currently indisposed by the law,” Tombs sighed, then gave Robot another once over, head to toe, “Alice said you were looking better. How ya feeling?” 

“Pretty good,” Robot admitted. And he was. The slushie seemed to have done as intended. He would need to thank Alice again for her help, “I think it was just another minor malfunction.” 

“Alright,” Tombs decided, “Please keep an eye on it, Robot. If things start to get worse, we’ll get Molly, but for now – I’m sure we can find you a new cord. See if that helps, okay?” 

“Alrighty.” 

“Alright,” Tombs smiled, though it seemed strained to Robot. 

“Thank you,” Robot said, his own smile quite genuine, “I appreciate the help.” 

“Anytime, Robot. You know that.” 

“I do,” and he did.

.♥.


	2. Something Major

.♥.

Life appeared to go on as normal after that. Though Robot found himself needing to be more mindful of his exertion levels.

Even with the new adapter Alice had hunted down for him, Robot had had to say farewell to late nights (much to Randy’s disappointment) in order to achieve a full battery by morning. He also had to increase his fuel intake, and in more regular intervals than what he had been doing before. Then there were the solar breaks, which he was encouraged to take at some point during his day in order to avoid getting lethargic. 

Overall, the changes were minor, and no different from what anyone else in their twenties would inevitably be asked to make. For Robot, a perceived immortal, the small reminder that he did age in some way made him feel a little more connected to those around him.

At least his efforts seemed to have slowed the malfunctions. 

The big ones. 

The scary ones. 

Robot still frequently suffered from the condition of having been made by Fingle Dan, but he had yet to repeat the astral projection nor the demonic static since their initial incidents. 

Albeit, Robot would be hard pressed to recall the details of the white noise malfunction. 

The last he remembered of that day was his retreat behind the counter, and then he had awoken on the floor with Gertrude hovering over him. The rest Robot had had to learn later through casual eavesdropping when Gertrude had informed Molly of what had happened. The anxiety in his friends’ voices had been hard to hear, and Robot had elected to keep the memory loss on the down low. 

Besides, the new routine was working. What was the point of adding to their worries when bygones could be bygones? Robot was fine. 

A little stiff in the joints sometimes, sure, but fine!

Even if Randy was making his displeasure with the _Full House_ hiatus very hard to ignore. 

“Why don’t you want to go, Randy?” Robot asked as he handed the latest Robot Retail customer their bag and receipt. 

He had been helping said customer when Randy had loudly dragged himself into the store and sunk down onto the stool meant for hard working cashiers. Knowing the game all too well, Robot had staunchly ignored Randy’s sulking until the customer was well on their way to paying. 

“Thanks for shopping at Robot Retail. Hope you have a nice rest of your day,” Robot smiled his best service smile, which was ignored for a grumbled goodbye.

Soon as the door chimed with the stranger’s exit, Robot relaxed and pointedly returned his attention to Randy. 

“Seriously?” Randy asked, rolling his head along the wall to look at Robot, “Why _would_ I want to go? Do I look like 1986 Val Kilmer?” 

“Unfortunately, no.” 

“Fuck you,” Randy huffed, “You fucking asshole, I see how it is.” 

“Sorry,” But he wasn’t, and Randy was piss poor at fighting smiles anyway. 

“C’mon, it’ll be fun,” Robot tried again, “It’s for a good cause – and don’t you want to see Tina and Juniper wipe the beach with Stone and Clive?” 

“Absolutely, I do!” Randy slid off the stool, “Competitive volleyball between the PD and affiliates, guaranteed bloody noses and possible puking, all for dead dogs? More than worth the ticket price. But Robot we never get to spend time together anymore.” 

“We can spend time together at the event.” 

“ _Alone_ ,” Randy clarified, “As in just the two of us. Not working, not hanging with the Hive, _not_ shilling hot dogs to a crowd of sweaty and bloodthirsty – but ultimately generous – people.” 

“Oh,” Robot said. 

“Oh,” Randy mocked, then sighed and hopped up next to the register. He kicked his heels in thought for a moment before he leaned in in order to keep his voice low, “It just feels like I hardly ever get to see you nowadays. 

“Either you’re running the store or the city or I’m stuck at PD and the courthouse. And even when we do do date dates, someone always fucking needs you for something. I miss you, bro… I miss us.” 

_Damn_ , Robot thought, looking into Randy’s widened eyes and wishing his intense feelings of deep affection towards the man were slightly less intense. Especially when met with that pout. _Oh, he’s good_. 

“I’ll get Billy to run the truck,” Robot conceded, and couldn’t help the laugh when Randy almost threw himself backwards off the counter with a rolling howl. Randy rocketed forward again and managed to stop himself from headbutting Robot in the nose, blond bangs strewn across his face, smile almost feral with excitement. 

“I love you!” Randy exclaimed, tilting his head to get a better view under Robot’s hat, “I love you I love you IloveyouIloveIloveyouIloveIloveyou-” 

Robot slapped a hand over Randy’s tirade of affection, feeling the huff of amusement against his palm as he gave it a moment.

“Love you too,” Robot said at last. 

Randy pulled Robot’s hand from his mouth and placed a quick kiss along the fingers. He then spun around on the counter, almost taking several displays with him, and hopped down onto the other side. 

“Okay, so first things first-” Randy started, phone magically in hand, “There’s this sweet ride I wanna rent, not gonna lie, probably need some money-” 

“Randy.” 

“There’s also this new drink making the rounds that actually gets robo-brains drunk. So, that might be fun to try?” 

“Randy.” 

“Also also, what are your opinions on the beaches up north? I figure with everyone down south for the match, we’ll practically have the place to ourselves.” 

“Randy!” 

“What?” Randy whipped around, looking up from where he’d been scrolling rapidly through some document or another. 

Robot took a breath and reminded, “The event’s not for another ten days.” 

“I know,” Randy said, “But I want everything to be perfect for you, baby, and that’s gonna take some planning.” 

“Alright, just, please go easy?” 

Randy scoffed, “Robot, in all the time you have known me, when have I ever been excessive? Ever?” 

“Is this a trick question?” 

“No, it’s rhetorical.” 

“I don’t know what that means.” 

“You-” Randy stopped and blinked rapidly, apparently suffering his own malfunction at the casual revelation. 

Fortunately, Molly chose that moment to kick RR’s doors open with Gertrude perched victoriously upon her shoulders. A very cool, very impressive image if the next second Molly had remembered to crouch instead of slamming poor Gertrude’s face into the concrete head. 

“FUCK!” 

Finally granted that discount she’d been after, Gertrude sat crossed leg on the floor with a volleyball in her lap and Molly reaching over the med kit between them. Robot had been gracious enough to provide a towel and ice pack, on the house, while Randy’s phone camera went off enough times that both women knew to avoid social media for the rest of the day. 

“I am so so sorry,” Molly insisted as she stuffed cotton balls into Gertrude’s nostrils as gently as possible. 

“Them swob wauffing!” Gertrude attempted to say. Robot wasn’t sure if he understood, but at least Molly seemed to.

“I can’t!” 

“Why woulb ew do dis oo me, Wolly?” 

“I’m sorry,” The undercurrent of sheer amusement in Molly’s voice discredited the sentiment somewhat, “I forgot how tall you are!”

“Em nob!” Gertrude lowered the ice pack onto her injured face as soon as Molly was done, “Bub whabebber.” 

“Is your nose blocked, or are you drowning in honey,” Randy commented, raising a brow at Gertrude’s deteriorating speech. Gertrude ignored him save for a very silent, very strong worded opinion in finger form. 

“What were you guys trying to do anyway?” Robot asked. 

Molly helped Gertrude to her feet and explained, “You’ve heard about the big PD volleyball match for charity, right?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Well,” Molly put some swagger into her next words, “Guess who qualified?” 

“Horver?” 

“No, Randy – Well, yes, but- fuck it,” Molly swung her jacket off, revealing the two concealed weapons beneath. 

Working with cars had more than one benefit, and Molly was all too willing to show them off. Behind her, battle bruised and a little terrifying, Gertrude stood with their red volleyball raised above their heads – squeezing it fiercely. 

“Uh!” Gertrude grunted, flexing with the ball, Molly following suit, “Hn!” 

“Yeah!” Robot joined, excited for his friends.

“Officers arrest me,” Molly posed her arms in a Greek dab, “I’m carrying without a license.” 

“Oh my god,” Robot heard Randy whisper under a laugh.

“Battlerinas in the house,” Gertrude hyped, “Whoop whoop!” 

Molly flexed in the other direction, “Hope Horver has life insurance.” 

“For his dick,” Gertrude hung the ball low between her power stanced thighs, providing a helpful visual aid for the apparent size of her own swinging pair. 

“Hell yeah!” 

The two women clapped on a high five and turned towards their friends expectantly. 

“Heck yeah,” Robot said, while Randy remained unimpressed. 

(Outside, a would-be customer had paused on the threshold before they slowly turned around, got back into their car, and drove away)

“Are either of you even in the justice system?” Randy asked. 

“Bitch, we are the justice system,” Gertrude alpha thumped her chest, then gave a small, _Ow_. 

“Yeah,” Molly agreed, “Without the criminals there would be no cops. And that might not seem like a bad thing to some people, but then what would anyone do in the city?” 

“Probably die, of boredom.” 

“Clive got you in, didn’t he,” Randy said. 

“Only the qualifier!” Gertrude protested. 

“And we qualified,” Molly added. 

“Like a beast,” The girls high-fived again then fell against each other’s backs with crossed arms. 

If nothing else, they’d probably be the most in sync team on the beach. Robot was pretty sure they wouldn’t win. He hoped they would, of course he did, but he’d actually seen Juniper play and it wasn’t unfair to say Tina was just backup. Robot would admit, however, that the Battlerinas probably had a better chance than most.

“Congratulations,” Robot offered honestly and with a smile. He might have said more if a distant crackling hadn’t started up in his right ear. 

Trying to keep calm, Robot eased a hand onto the counter in front of him, fully remembering the vertigo he had suffered moments prior to the previous malfunction. Thankfully, none of the others seemed to have noticed the movement and Robot maintained a cheery countenance. 

At least he could hear. An apparent improvement over last time. 

He just had to hold on. The problem would pass, or he would need a basic reboot – hopefully without the eldritch screaming. 

Meanwhile, Molly hooked her discarded jacket off the floor and over her shoulder, asking, “So, you guys gonna come root for us?” 

“Definitely. Would not miss it for the world, Molly,” Randy assured with absolutely no conviction to the lie. He then threw subtly further down the drain by televising the over shoulder look he gave Robot, “Wink.” 

“Wink?” Molly sounded dejected, “No, no wink. Why wink?”

“Nothing,” Randy shrugged, and went back to nonchalant, “We’ll be there. Promise. We’re totally looking forward to _that_ day, right Robot?” 

“Yeah,” Robot ventured, “Totally.” 

He’d only really been paying half attention through the static slowly edging its way into the rest of his hearing, and was relieved that his voice had managed to come out normal. 

Unconvinced, Molly narrowed her eyes between the two, “There something else going on we don’t know about?” 

“If there was, why would you think that was any of your business,” Randy countered. 

“Oooh,” Gertrude teased and held up the volleyball to sway it suggestively, “Y’all gonna fuuuuuuuck~” 

“ _Gertrude-_ ” Randy barked, his voice shrieking into something inhuman in Robot’s ears before whatever else anyone had to say was suddenly buried beneath a tangled wave of noise. 

Then, through it all, there came a painfully clear pitch, that grew and grew and grew and- 

Popped. 

Robot tightened his grip under the cash register to fight his knees sudden insistence that they buckle. 

The vertigo had returned in full force, though a low battery wasn’t to blame this time. It was the sheer disturbance of a world gone mute that had unsettled him. He could feel the vibrations of Randy talking, could sense the roll of exasperation from Molly and see intent darken Gertrude’s expression. 

But he could hear none of it. 

Even the constant hum of his internals was missing. 

Robot was prevented from calling anyone’s attention when murder flashed in Gertrude’s eyes. Randy had, unsurprisingly, finally pushed a button that had led to a snap decision. What Gertrude failed to account for was the fact that Randy lived his life more on edge than a rabbit. Years of pissing people off for the hell of it had honed Randy’s innate survival skills to the point where he barely glanced at the incoming volleyball before he dodged it. 

Nice, Robot thought despite everything, then registered that Randy had in fact been standing in front of him. 

Not so nice. 

“Robot!” Gertrude shouted in horror. She clasped her hands over her mouth at the sound the ball made when it decked the unsuspecting android square in the face, “Oh my god!” 

Robot went down like the heap of scrap metal he’d been welded from, taking a good chunk of the back shelves with him.

“What the fuck, Gertrude,” Randy half shouted.

“I didn’t mean to! Why’d you move!?” 

“Robot?” Molly called out as she moved to assist their fallen comrade, “Robot, you alright?” 

Behind the counter there was shattered glass everywhere, and ruined top shelf magazines, and the burning stench of bourbon released. Amidst the mess, Robot was slouched lifeless in the corner. Molly tentatively made her way to him, kicking them a path clear. 

“Robot?” Randy carefully peeked his head into the scene, “Hey, is he okay?” 

“I didn’t hear him shutdown,” Molly answered, “But I think he’s out.” 

Molly situated herself as best she could in the limited space and grabbed Robot under the arms. He was much more unwieldy than he looked, but she managed to get him in position and dragged him out from behind the counter. Wincing at the sound of crunching glass, Randy leaned further forward to snatch Robot’s bowler from where it had fallen. 

“Good thing his skin is iron,” Randy commented, “Gertrude, you do know I am going to do everything in my power to convince Robot to sue you for damages, right?” 

“I said I was sorry! I’m sure he’ll forgive me,” Gertrude argued, though she sounded rather uncertain, at least until she glared at Randy, “Besides, if you really cared you would have taken the hit.” 

“Since when has self sacrifice been my modus operandi?” 

“I would hope since you first learned to open your stupid mouth,” Gertrude shot back.

Once they were clear of the mess, Molly lowered Robot to the floor and carefully tilted his head to the side to grant them full access. No sooner had she done so than Randy and Gertrude were both over her shoulder, the nerves rolling off them almost smothering. 

“Should be safe to just restart him, right?” Molly checked. 

“What we usually do,” Gertrude agreed, and only hesitated a little bit before she reached past Molly to press the center of the ring at the base of Robot’s skull. An immediately regrettable decision when she was met with that stupid fucking error sound. 

“Nnope,” Gertrude withdrew as if burned and swiftly backed away away away. An oily, crawling sensation threatened to curl into her chest and Gertrude shook her hands in an attempt to dispel the feeling. 

“The fuck,” Randy hissed. 

He moved to take the vacated spot at Robot’s head, placing a hand on Robot’s chest to steady himself as he crouched. Randy then slid that hand to cradle his partner’s neck and gently brushed a thumb over the dim power button. Everything seemed clean and clear. No dents on the chromed dome, no cracks nor seeping fluids… 

“It’s fine,” Gertrude interjected, “It’s happened before. You just gotta try again.” 

“When did it happen before?” Randy demanded. 

“With the static, while you were on the phone. Remember?” Gertrude wrapped her arms around herself, “I tried calling you over, but he started up again after a couple tries. I dunno, he seemed okay after.” 

“Guess we can’t really do anything but try,” Molly said, then went ahead and did just that. 

With the second error sound, Randy took a slow breath through his nose, curling the hand not cushioning Robot’s head into his thigh.

“Third time’s the charm,” Gertrude encouraged, so Molly tried again.

And again. 

And again. 

And again. 

And- 

“Okay,” Molly sat back, “I’m officially worried.” 

“Move,” Randy urged, and Molly rose up out of the way. 

Lifting Robot’s shoulder to give him better access to the back of Robot’s head, Randy fumbled urgent fingers along the metal scalp until his nail caught. He then slid the panel aside and revealed an iridescent display of various meters and blips and numbers and whatnot. 

Or at least that’s what should have been uncovered. 

“Wh…”

Instead of a retro mess of colorful pixel, Randy was met with the blinking red clipart of a battery, a line slashed from corner to corner. _Shit_.

“We gotta go,” Randy said suddenly, wrapping his arms around Robot’s chest to hoist the unconscious bot.

“Why?” Gertrude asked, but Molly had already grabbed Robot’s legs, and together they lifted Robot from the floor. 

“What’s wrong?” Molly insisted, following Randy’s lead into the backroom. 

“Later,” Randy bumped the door open with his hip and moved in a step before going to lay Robot under the coat hooks, next to an outlet. 

“Set him here,” Randy instructed. 

Molly obeyed and retreated to give Randy whatever space he needed. Gertrude came to stand beside her in the doorway while Randy frantically pulled open drawers on the filing cabinet. Papers scattered in the air as he rifled through them. 

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon – Ah!”

Triumphant, Randy produced a thick cable from the third drawer down. Not wasting any more time, he slotted one end of the cable over Robot’s power button until it depressed with a click. He then plugged the pronged end into the outlet. 

With a death grip on Robot’s jaw to keep the android pitched forward, Randy watched Robot’s monitor anxiously. If all went well in the next few moments, then Randy was taking a sledgehammer to the wall to make room for a second of those charging pads they’d been looking at. The cost no longer mattered, anything to spare him those few silent moments before a scale tipped. 

A small ping alerted Randy to the red battery turning green, complete with the thinnest sliver of a power bar. 

“Fuck,” Randy breathed, weak with relief. Randy released Robot and fell against the wall, sliding down to sit beside him. 

“Randy?”

Randy looked up to find Gertrude and Molly still stood worriedly in the hall. He had honestly forgotten that they were there in the thirty seconds it had taken to plug Robot in. 

“He’s fine,” Randy said, playfully shoving Robot’s head, “Guess dum-dum here forgot to eat his Cheerios.” 

“Randy,” Molly warned. 

Randy met Molly’s gaze, but neither said anything, because yeah, he knew.

…

Four notes and a chime, and Robot opened his eyes.

Good morning, Robot thought and was about to say before his processors finally caught up to his surroundings. The sight that greeted him was certainly far from what he had been expecting. 

For Robot was neither at home, nor in bed, nor surrounded by sunlight. Rather, Robot found himself seated on the linoleum floor of Robot Retail’s back office, legs stretched out in front of him, hands folded neatly atop his lap. He was also alone. That in and of itself was perhaps nothing noteworthy. The fact that Robot could feel the weight of a charger, however, suggested his spot on the floor had possibly been acquired involuntarily. 

Sitting away from the wall he was rested on, Robot disconnected himself with a quick twist and tug. As the cord fell to the floor with a dull thud, Robot went to roll to his feet, only to fall back halfway.

Okay. 

At least he was somewhat standing. 

Robot decided a little caution was called for as his processors took their time to completely restart. So, he gave it a minute, then braced against the wall and made it the rest of the way just fine. With a push, Robot stood fully, holding his hands out to catch himself barring any sudden hiccups. Fortunately, his balance remained, and Robot straightened, brushed off, and adjusted his bow tie before retrieving his hat from the hook it hung on. 

Properly presentable, Robot made his way towards the front of the store. Every step felt like moving through molasses, which made Robot wonder what had warranted the charge so badly to leave such residual effects. That was a question for someone else to answer, however, as crash reports weren’t exactly his forte, and probably never would be. 

At the sound of customers, Robot put on his best smile and stepped out of the hallway. 

“Howdy, welcome to Robot Retail,” Robot greeted, “I’m Robot. Let me know if there’s anything I can help you with.” 

The customers stopped talking and turned to face him from where they were huddled by the front counter. There were three of them, all young, all pretty cute. No masks, which was a good sign, although they were staring at him a little funny. 

Oh, oops, Robot hadn’t meant to interrupt anything. 

“Robot,” The middle asked, red hair, matching leather jacket, “You feeling okay, bud?” 

“Yeah,” Robot answered, then noticed the distinct lack of shelves on half the wall behind the counter, “Everything alright with you guys?” 

“We’re okay,” The very strawberry strawberry blond said. They were also sporting a concerning bruise across the middle of their face and had blood crusted on their nostrils and upper lip. 

Oh!

“Were you looking for medkits?” Robot wondered as he moved to where they should have been, “I could have sworn we still had some in stock. I know if not, I have a couple in my van.” 

“No, Robot, I’m fine,” Strawberry assured, though they didn’t sound it. Were they in trouble? Two-against-one sort of thing? Should Robot call the cops? 

“I’m more worried about you,” They said softly, bringing a stop to Robot’s train of thought. 

“Robot,” The third finally spoke, another blond, if not naturally, “Robot, look at me.” 

Robot’s gaze flicked to them, only to find himself pinned beneath the most piercing set of blue eyes he’d ever seen. They cut through to the heart of something within him, and Robot would have been hard pressed to look away. 

“What’s my name?” They asked. 

“Have we met?” 

Suddenly there were hands on his arms, holding him in place, and Robot tensed in their grip. 

“What’s my name, Robot,” There was a harsh edge in their voice now, that once sharp stare turned searching, lips pulled slightly, primed, “The _fuck_ is my name!” 

“I’m-I’m sorry,” Robot pleaded, “I’m bad with names.” 

There was a wounded sounding, _No_ , and Robot received a hard, desperate shake at the same time a chime sounded in his head and everything snapped into place. Robot had to blink against the whiplash like sensation, and when the world refocused, he found a frantic looking Randy practically attached to where he’d been grabbed.

“Randy?” 

Robot might as well have slapped Randy, the way the man startled at his own name. Then his gaze narrowed, face twisted in a series of emotions that Robot couldn’t quite untangle. 

“Are you serious,” Randy hissed. 

“What’s wrong?” Robot asked, concerned. 

“Are you fucking kidding me!?” Randy placed a firm hand to Robot’s cheek, keeping them eye to eye, “Do you know me?” 

“Of course,” Robot smiled, “You’re my Randy.” 

“And them-!” Randy released Robot to point at the others standing by the window. 

“Molly-” Robot nodded towards Molly, then- “and Gertrude.” 

Both of them shared a relieved sigh, though that did nothing to wipe the frown from their brows. 

Randy stepped back into Robot’s space, blocking his view of the girls, anger smothering anything else being felt. 

“The hell was that,” Randy demanded. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Knock it off, dickhead,” Randy warned as he jabbed a finger into Robot’s shoulder, “This isn’t funny.” 

Robot was properly confused at that point, “Randy, I don’t-” 

“Dude!” Randy’s hands, and volume, went up with frustration, “Stop it!” 

“Robot,” Molly interjected, and when he looked to her, saw the same cautious concern that he himself felt, “You didn’t recognize us.” 

“When?” 

“Just now,” Gertrude clarified. 

That didn’t sound right, “But you’re my friends.” 

“Fuck you,” Randy gave Robot a hard shove, forcing distance between them, then turned and made for the doors. 

Gertrude instinctively reached to stop him, but Randy had already pushed through to the dusk colored parking lot. For a moment Gertrude debated with herself, shooting Robot an openly worried look, then a silent apology before she followed suit. 

Watching their friends disappear around the building’s corner into the burgeoning night, Molly allowed the tension to drop from her with a sigh. She stepped quietly over to Robot.

Molly kept her voice low when she asked, “Robot, would you be able to run a full diagnostic if I asked you to?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I think you should.”

...

Once more plugged into the wall, Robot sat gently swiveling on the chair in the office of Robot Retail. Him and Molly had decided that their best bet of avoiding another robotic fainting spell while his diagnostic ran would be to keep him on a constant charge. So, Robot had taken to scrolling through the latest hot goss on Twitter while his systems whirred softly in the background.

Robot had just managed to reach thread’s end of the latest celebrity cancel when there came a soft knock on the door. Unsurprisingly, it was Randy Robot discovered standing nervously in the hall, fingers knotted together. 

“Hey,” Robot said. 

“Hey,” Randy echoed, “Can I come in?” 

“Sure,” Robot scooted the chair a smidge, giving Randy room to hop onto the desk. 

Randy’s quick check to the exposed monitor on the back of Robot’s head had been expected, though the lack of a follow-up comment struck him as odd. Robot failed to ask what had been seen exactly before Randy had pulled away with a hum. Peeking from his peripheral, Robot saw that Randy had decided to focus on tapping his toes against the linoleum rather than risk direct eye contact. 

A good minute of silence passed between them until, at last, Randy decided to break it. 

“So,” He started, “How you feeling?” 

“Pretty good,” Robot admitted, “Just running a diagnostic.” 

“I heard.” 

Another beat of silence, one that might have stretched longer than the last if Randy had been the sort to let awkward wounds fester.

“Robot-” 

“I’m sorry,” Robot interrupted, and Randy shook his head. 

“No, you don’t-” 

“I knew there was something wrong,” Robot continued despite the protest, “I was starting to malfunction right before the forced shutdown, I remember that much. The exact details are a little fuzzy, but I do know I didn’t want to worry anyone. So I didn’t say anything. I’m sorry.” 

“That’s okay, baby,” Randy said, “You were scared too.” 

“Yeah,” Robot admitted, “But I still should have said something.” 

“Maybe, but nothing to be done now,” Randy assured, “Hopefully, we get some answers from this little scan of yours. Then we fix you up, no problemo, and never again ever have to talk about it.” 

“Yeah,” Robot said, “Hopefully.” 

The pair were spared a third uncertain quiet by the small notification sound emitted from the bow at Robot’s neck. 

“Oh,” Robot straightened and twisted the charger from its port, “Okay, just give me a sec.” 

“Report complete?” Randy guessed. 

“Yep.” 

_Oh_ , Robot thought, bringing the diagnostic results to the forefront of his mind and immediately seeing the red. He was in no way an expert, let alone of his own systems, but even he understood what was trying to be conveyed to him. Line after line another stone was added to the sinking raft in his chest. 

Because this was… yeah. 

“What’s the prognosis, doc?” Randy asked as Robot’s scanning eyes slowly stilled. He had hoped Robot would appreciate the attempt to lighten the mood, instead of leaving Randy to get a little more terrified the longer Robot upheld his thousand yard stare at the floor. 

“Randy,” Robot said, and boy howdy, did Randy not like that. 

Randy swallowed, “What is it?” 

“I think-” Robot started, then looked up at Randy, who really wished he hadn’t, “I think I’m shutting down.” 

“Wh-” Randy furrowed his brow, “Like…?” 

“For good.”

…

_Remember Chiliad._

How could he not. Sometimes he still heard the echo of gunfire on the mountainside, still imagined Khloe’s voice distorted over the intercom, felt the heat and the power of the bunker’s collapse. Sometimes he'll see a cougar between the trees and imagine the smell of Magic Valley, or check for a tail on every new doctor he meets. Just in case. 

Mostly he remembers waking up in Boilingbroke and being confronted with the full weight of everything he had done – of everything he had been made okay with doing. Robot had been shot a dozen times that day, when the silence that had met his _“Love You”_ echoed back at him, he wished he had been shot a dozen more. 

But those sentiments had been short lived.

Because he had survived. His friends had survived. Randy had survived, and taken his hand, and been able to say _“I Love You”_ again. Even after everything, Robot had been forgiven (too easily) and accepted (too quickly). A little different each time, but he wasn’t blamed and he wasn’t punished. Not really. 

And day by day, the city had returned and the people recovered. Life had slowly fallen back into routine, and Robot was okay. Then the malfunctions had increased and multiplied. Nothing major, just minor inconveniences, and part of Robot said that maybe (finally) karma was taking its due.

If only. 

“They never repaired you,” Molly said from her spot on Robot’s couch.

Gertrude sat silently next to her, tea in hand, while Randy stood to the side, the clink of metal on ceramic the only sound he had made since they had relocated. From his own seat by the window, Robot had kept a nervous eye on his boyfriend.

“Correct,” Robot confirmed for Molly, “Fingle fixed my voice box, and they plugged most the holes on the mountain top, but with the chaos of the trial and the reunions, I guess there just wasn’t time to do a proper patch up.” 

“Khloe asked you to stop shaking,” Gertrude said softly in a moment of realization. 

“Yeah.” 

“Robot, why didn’t you say anything?” Molly wondered.

“It was fine,” Robot insisted, “Everyone had more important things to worry about.” 

“Yeah – you!” Gertrude suddenly gasped and stood up, tea abandoned on the coffee table, “Oh my god! Did I do this!?” 

Both Molly and Randy snapped wild eyes to Robot. 

“No,” Robot assured, urging everyone to calm down. 

“Are you sure?” Gertrude asked. 

“There were a lot of bullets flying through that doorway, but I distinctly remember yours,” Robot touched the faint welding scar on his neck, behind the tie. 

“Yeah, alright,” Gertrude sat back down, fingers twisted in a mess, “Sorry again, by the way, for shooting you.” 

“Still fine,” Robot said, and Randy blew out a breath before taking a long drink of his coffee. 

“What happens now?” Molly asked. 

“I dunno,” Robot shrugged, “My battery was pretty shot up. In all honesty, I’m surprised I lasted through the trial, let alone the months since.” 

“Surprised you didn’t notice sooner,” Randy commented quietly while he set his empty mug down next to Gertrude’s, still refusing direct eye contact. 

“Me too,” Robot admitted, “I guess Fingle didn’t think leaking battery acid warranted enough of a danger for a warning.” Or, maybe his sensors were fried…

“Speaking of,” Molly started, “Do you think Fingle might be able to help?” 

“Maybe,” and that was a big maybe, “I think the real question is would he even want to.” 

“Oh, I have no problem with convincing him, if need be,” Gertrude promised. Threatened, more like. 

“Guess we’ll burn that bridge when we come to it,” Molly said, “But with or without Fingle’s help, we’re gonna figure this out. You’re gonna be okay, Robot. Alright?” 

“Okay.” 

“In the meantime, did you want anyone else to know?” 

And that caught Randy’s attention.

Robot hummed in thought, “I mean, eventually they’ll _have_ to know, won’t they?” 

“How eventually is eventually?” Randy asked. 

“Uh,” Robot pulled the diagnostic report into his mind once more. Thankfully, his OS had provided a likely timetable for his shutdown and he could avoid attempting the maths. 

“A few days at least,” Robot said, “A week at most-” 

“A week!?” Randy erupted and Gertrude flinched before she joined him in staring horrified at Robot. 

“If I make it til then,” Robot continued, “It’ll be very obvious to anyone that something’s wrong.” 

“Seven days,” Randy whispered, then glared harshly, “What the hell, Robot!” 

“It’s gone pretty long without being addressed, Randy,” Robot defended, “We’re lucky I’m still sitting here. I think we have the measures we took to counteract my charging issues to thank for that.” 

“At least we know what was causing them now,” Molly said. 

“Exactly.” 

“One week,” Randy collapsed backwards into the nearest recliner. He then leaned forward to put his head in his hands, bangs hiding his face.

“Randy?” Gertrude asked, but Randy just shook his head and she backed off, “Okay.” 

Molly moved her gaze from Randy to Robot and quietly suggested, “Why don’t we give you two some privacy.” 

“Yeah,” Robot agreed, “Thank you.” 

“Of course,” Molly reached over to give Robot’s knee a supportive squeeze then stood up, Gertrude following suit. 

“We’ll talk tomorrow, Robot,” Molly assured, “We’ll figure something out, I promise. We don’t plan on giving up on you just yet. You just rest and take it easy for now, okay?” 

“Okay, see you tomorrow.” 

“Goodnight, Robot,” Gertrude called from near the door, “If either of you need anything you fucking call me. I don’t care what time it is, I will wake myself the fuck up to answer. I’ll wake Jacky and half of Blaine County if I have to.” 

Robot gave a quiet chuckle, “Will do. Love you guys.” 

“Love you, Robot,” The girls said simultaneously, then Gertrude turned to Randy, “Night, Randy.” 

When Randy remained silent in his seat, Molly gave Robot a sympathetic smile and led the way out with a tug on Gertrude’s sleeve. Soon as the door had clicked shut, Robot set his own cooling coffee aside and pushed to his feet. The act was far from arduous, though it still required a concentrated effort on his part. Robot figured he had simply sat too long. 

Managing to avoid the previous spells of imbalance, Robot took the few steps over to where Randy sat and carefully knelt next to him. Robot then trailed a hand along Randy’s arm to slide their palms together and gently encourage them away from Randy’s curtained face. Without moving otherwise, Randy finished intertwining their fingers and gave a squeeze, letting Robot know he was indeed there. 

Unsure of what else to do, Robot merely enjoyed the warmth in their touch. 

“Randy?” 

Randy swiped his glasses off and finally looked at Robot, eyes impossibly bright. 

“That’s not a lot of time, Robot,” Randy said. 

“I know,” Robot answered. 

“If Fingle can’t help, I don’t know if there’s anything we can do.” 

“There might not be.” 

“Doesn’t that scare you?” 

“Nah,” Robot shrugged, “I’ve got you.” 

Randy glanced away, and Robot rubbed a soothing thumb along the length of Randy’s index finger. 

“How you feeling, Randy?” He asked. 

“I’m gonna be honest with you, Robot,” Randy admitted, “I don’t think it’s hit me yet – and, baby, I’m not looking forward to when it do.” 

“I’m still here,” Robot reached with his other hand and brushed aside the blond bangs to better see Randy’s face, “You’re not alone.” 

Randy nodded, blinking against the first hint of tears at the corner of his eyes. For a moment, the pair simply sat in the comfort of each other’s company, then Randy sighed. 

“You know,” Randy started, “This isn’t how it’s supposed to go.” 

“What?” 

“You, me. Dying. We’ve gone and got it hella backwards, bro,” Randy explained, “You should be planning my funeral, not telling me I gotta plan yours.” 

“Honestly, I wouldn’t mind so much if we were further along the timeline,” Robot said, offering up a small smile. 

Randy gave a genuine chuckle, and once more met Robot’s gaze, “You’re really down to ride or die this thing between us, huh?” 

“Yeah,” Robot agreed. 

“Shut up,” Randy laughed, which Robot returned, and Randy just looked at Robot for a second, seeming to really take him in, before he brought their heads together. 

“I love you.” 

“Love you too.”

.♥. 


	3. Something Final

.♥.

Calling Fingle turned out to be both a blessing and a curse, as was often the case with anything involving the old man.

Just getting a hold of him had proven nigh on impossible – Fingle either refusing to answer, or downright talking over whomever he was on the phone with until he didn’t get what he wanted and hung up. It took cashing in a favor from a passing Mila to even get Fingle interested in heading their way. 

And there was still no guarantee that he would show. Which was looking less and less likely the closer they got to passing noon. They could do nothing but wait, though, so Robot had decided to do so in the shade of his front porch. 

“Hey Robot,” Molly called, having just parked her Sultan in the drive, "How you doing?” 

“Doing good, doing good,” Robot answered, “How ‘bout you?” 

“Oh, I’m alright. Any sign of Fingle?” 

“Not yet.” 

“Where’s Randy?” Molly wondered, squinting against the sun in search of their missing party member. 

“Robot Retail,” Robot said and held up an empty 3 liter Sprunk, “Refreshment run.” 

Molly’s brow raised at the size of the bottle, it was probably bigger than Robot’s head, “You drink that all yourself?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Damn,” Molly said, then something occurred to her, “Stop me if I’ve asked this, but Robot, do you need to pee at all?” 

“Why?” 

“…Fair enough,” Molly conceded, and removed her jacket before she took a seat on the porch steps. 

No sooner had Molly pulled out her phone to check on Gertrude, than a chrome Mule barreled past them on the road. The tires screeched around the corner and the large truck fought for balance, going on two wheels for the U turn. Whoever was steering made the recovery, however, and came flying back towards them. 

They missed the red sultan’s rear bumper by a hair and instead slaughtered Robot’s mailbox before coming to a stop across the front lawn.

“Aw,” Robot frowned at the crumpled post. 

Molly knew right away that could only be one of two people, and it turned out to be both. 

“Stop being such a baby, Randy,” Fingle’s high pitched voice carried over from the driver’s side of the cab as he jumped out, “I wasn’t gonna steal it.” 

“I never said you were!” Randy’s equally high voice protested, the passenger’s door opening to emit the grocery laden lawyer. 

“Yes you did,” Fingle argued and circled around the grill just to yell at Randy properly, “And I quote, ‘Hey, Fingle, going my way?’ like you damn well didn’t know I was. Then _you_ basically carjacked _me_.” 

“It’s not your car,” Randy said, “It’s Robot’s! And we _were_ going the same way. Or did you want me to walk back with ten pounds of G Fuel and two tubs of ice cream?” 

“I was doing you a favor,” Fingle growled, “You’ve no arm mass and Robot’s fucking heavy.” 

“So???” 

“Hi, Randy,” Molly interrupted to prevent the second half of that conversation.

Randy whipped around in their direction, plastic bags swinging at his elbows, “Hi Molly – Robot!” 

“Hey, Randy!” 

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Fingle rolled his eyes, and hobbled after the sprinting idiot, “Hey, Robot.” 

“Hey, Fingle,” Robot greeted, equally unenthusiastic. 

“Hello, Molly.” 

“How ya doing, Fingle,” Molly greeted as Randy skipped up past her onto the porch. She heard Robot’s pleased little _Ooh_ when Randy showed him what he’d brought. 

“Terrible,” Fingle sniffled, “Everyone I love is in jail and Mila lied to me.” 

“Aw,” Molly pouted in faux sympathy, “I’m sorry to hear that, Fingle. Least you still have us, right?” 

“Why would I want you,” Fingle soured, then corrected, “Not you Molly, you’re great. But I could do without the assholes.” 

“Now, that’s not very nice,” Robot chastised. 

“Fuck you.” 

“I’m gonna go put these in the freezer,” Randy said about the ice cream, he pointed at the G Fuel Robot had in his lap, “You need a spoon for that?” 

“Nah, I’m good.” 

“Okay, brb, baby.” 

“We’ll be here,” Robot called after him. When he looked back, he found Fingle cringing at him through the rail, “What?”

“You’re disgusting,” Fingle spat, “Now, what did you guys need me for? I didn’t drive all the way up here just to look pretty. Even though this crowd clearly needs it.” 

“Oh,” Molly had almost forgotten, “Could you look at Robot? He’s been having some issues lately. We’ve already run a diagnostic, but we wanted an expert opinion.” 

“That’s it?” Fingle scoffed and indicated the whole of his creation, “He glitches out all the time. What isn’t shit from yard sales, I stole from the dollar store, and the other half is probably Gorilla Glue by this point.” 

“You don’t know?” 

“Fingle,” Robot cut things short, “I’m dying.”

“Well, it’s about damn time,” Fingle shot back. 

Whatever response Fingle had been expecting, it clearly wasn’t the prolonged weighted silence that followed. It was only when Fingle saw a returning Randy stood stock-still behind the screen, just-in-case spoon in hand, that realization clicked. 

“Oh,” Fingle deflated, “You mean for real.” 

“Yeah.”

“Well how the hell was I supposed to know!?” Fingle shouted, “Nobody tells me anything!” 

“We only found out last night,” Molly placated, “Though honestly, we probably should have called you sooner. Robot’s been malfunctioning pretty badly for weeks.” 

“No, duh,” Fingle said. 

“Can you help him or not, Fingle?” Randy finally stepped out onto the porch. He gave Robot the spoon to hold while he opened the G Fuel Robot had apparently forgotten to. 

Fingle wiped a hand down his face, thinking, and noisily breathed out through his nose. He scratched behind his ear and stretched his neck, glancing over the expecting young faces. 

Fuck. 

“I won’t know until I take a look,” He sighed.

…

“Well, you’re fucked,” Fingle concluded an hour later, Robot laid out on the garage workbench in front of him, chest and head cracked open.

The acrid scent of ozone had immediately filled the enclosed space and had only grown worse when Fingle had gone to work with the soldering gun. A little because of the smell, a lot because of the sight, Molly and Randy had retreated to the opened back window. Thankfully they were spared the weirdness of hearing Robot talk under such conditions, the buzz of the tools and Fingle’s improvised sound effects the only interruption to the summer ambiance. 

Then had come the silence after Fingle’s less than tactful pronouncement. 

“Oh,” Robot said after a moment, a little disappointed, “Okay.” 

“Yep. Your battery is as good as gone at this point, and your CPU has literally melted to its casing,” Fingle casually informed Robot while he closed him back up, “You owe whoever’s been shooting you in the head a fuck you, cuz they obliterated your Ethernet port. So, unless you’ve magically upgraded to wi-fi in the last thirty seconds, you’re stuck in there buddy. Sorry.” 

“So what were you doing this whole time,” Randy stepped over to help Robot sit, “You were playing in his guts for _hours_.” 

“Fixing him,” Fingle said. 

“Fingle,” Molly sighed as she joined them, “You just said – you’re not making a lot of sense.” 

“He was a lost cause the day he gained sentience, but-” Fingle knocked on Robot’s head, ignoring the small protest, “No more crashy crashy. You’re gonna die, Robot. Horribly, slowly, and you’ll probably be a brick by the end, but at least you’ll remember it.” 

That said, Fingle swept a wave of tools off the workbench and into a heist bag, none of which were his, and headed out the door. 

“Hey!” Molly shouted and went after him, leaving Randy to get Robot onto his feet. 

“Fingle, wait,” Molly ran across the front lawn, surprised Fingle had been nimble enough to beat her to the Mule. 

The old man was spry when he wanted to be and already had the truck’s passenger’s side open, bag thrown onto the seat. Fortunately, Molly’s chosen career had honed her own running skills, and she slid and slammed her shoulder into the side of the truck in her haste to halt Fingle’s get away.

Path suddenly barred by a very capable arm, Fingle threw his head back in exasperation, “What more do you want from me!?” 

“You can’t just give up like this – Robot needs you!” 

“It’s not about giving up,” Fingle said, “It’s about being realistic. Believe me, it hurts less. Now, move!” 

Molly just stood there and watched as Fingle wrapped himself around her arm and began to try and tug her loose. He was earning an ‘A’ for effort, but the half-arsed snarling was taking away some serious intimidation points. Molly was fortunately spared the potential embarrassment of throwing an old man to the ground by Fingle’s unconditional surrender. 

“Fine!” Fingle barked and slid back onto his feet, “Have it your way!” 

“It just doesn’t feel like we’ve explored all our options,” Molly wouldn’t beg, but she would get damn close if it granted them a chance at finding a sliver of hope for all this. She had promised Robot he’d be okay. What Fingle had said, what he implied… 

“Alright. I don’t have time for this,” Fingle reached beneath Molly’s arm to pull something from under the seat, and Molly startled to see a gun. She marginally relaxed when instead of shooting her, Fingle shoved the pistol into her hands and suggested, “Go show him the flowers. He’s overdue.” 

With Molly successfully out of the way, Fingle climbed into the cab and closed the door, scooting over to the wheel. He then started the truck, geared into reverse, and pulled out onto the road. Molly knew he would have kept driving if Robot and Randy hadn’t finally followed them out of the garage. 

“So that’s it,” Randy demanded, “The great Fingle Dan can shit his own pants six times in a row, but he can’t even save his son, the Dollar Tree robot.” 

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Fingle opened the window and leaned out, “Yes. Is that what you want to hear from me, Randy? I admit it! I can’t save your talking fuck toy.” 

“Are you sure there isn’t a way to transfer me?” Robot asked, “Or maybe we can find a replacement battery? What about Tobor?” 

“That nightmare fuel was scrapped,” Fingle insisted, “This isn’t an ‘if’ situation, Robot. You’re dying. You are _going_ to die. I’m actually surprised you’re not dead already.” 

“Fingle,” Robot warned, having felt Randy tense beside him. 

“Don’t argue with me, I know you know I’m right. Now,” Fingle continued, holding up a finger as an idea struck him, “I say, why not go out with a bang? Huh? One last hurrah for old time’s sake. Relive your glory days, Robot – Be a Bitch again!” 

“Fingle,” Robot sighed, “No.” 

“C’mon, Robot- One last bank! One last bank! One last – oh forget it,” Fingle slumped back into the driver’s seat, chant abandoned, “Try to do something nice for you just once, as your father – but nooooo. Not Mr. High & Mighty. Well, fuck you Robot. Enjoy what little is left of your very sad and boring life. Hope it was worth it.” 

“It is,” Robot said. 

“Yeah, well, whatever,” Fingle put the Mule back into gear, “Don’t call me.” 

“Love you, Fingle.” 

“Liar,” Fingle grumbled and hit the gas, leaving the others behind in a cloud of dust. 

Gently coughing, Molly joined Robot and Randy along the side of the road. Together they just stood there, watching Fingle meld with the horizon. After a beat, Randy took a thoughtful breath. 

“I think he just actually stole your truck.” 

“Yeah.”

...

Time had never really bothered Robot before.

You couldn’t waste what you couldn’t lose, after all. 

He supposed that way of thinking had helped him maintain such a lofi and amiable approach to life compared to some. He could afford to mind his store, or hear someone out, or lend a hand, because anything else could wait until tomorrow. His tomorrows had always been infinite. Whereas those of the people around him, were not.

“Oh, so we agree with Fingle now!” 

Comfortably sat in the sun on the steps of his porch, Robot watched, chin in hand, as Randy threw eyes skyward. Across from him in the drive, Molly crossed her arms, and Robot could imagine the rising hackles.

“This isn’t an opinion, Randy,” Molly argued, “If a doctor tells you you’re sick, you don’t get to agree or disagree that away.” 

“You can when the doctor is Fingle,” Randy tried, then, a little more desperate, “I thought we weren’t giving up?” 

“We aren’t.” 

“Well, it sure as hell sounds like we are!” 

Sometimes Robot wished his hearing could be more selective. His friends had been at it awhile.

They had started soon after Fingle’s departure when Molly had asked him to run another diagnostic. That had put a hopeful light in Randy’s eye, Randy maybe thinking that Molly was joining the denial club. Instead, Molly had explained she wanted an updated timetable considering the depth of Fingle’s finagling. 

Things had quickly devolved from there. 

Robot sighed. 

At least the sun felt nice. 

“Hey.” 

Robot glanced up, finding they’d finally been joined by Gertrude. 

“Oh,” Robot straightened with a smile, “Hey there.” 

“Brought you something,” Gertrude offered, holding out a steaming disposable cup, RR neatly printed in gray on the cardboard sleeve. 

“That’s very kind of you, Gertrude. Thank you,” Robot slowly accepted the coffee, a welcomed heat spreading across his palm and into his fingers, loosening something in the joints there. He’d been afraid to mention it, but he could already feel the difference Fingle’s adjustments had made. Nothing radical so far, just noticeable.

To him at least. 

“Ahem,” Gertrude cleared her throat, and Robot looked up again to see that Gertrude had thoughtfully produced a straw, the paper already torn open. 

“Oh,” Robot slipped the red plastic free and slid it under the tab on his lid, “Thank you. Again.” 

“No problem,” Gertrude said, pretending to take a sip of her beverage while sneaking a peek towards the conflict going down in the drive. When she finished with a satisfied sigh, she rocked on the balls of her feet, trying and failing for nonchalant.

Robot took the time to savor a taste of his own coffee, then asked, “So, how you been Gert?” 

Gertrude snorted at the nickname, “Oh, I’m okay. How you holdin up, Robot?” 

“Been better,” Robot admitted, “But that’s alright.” 

Gertrude glanced towards the drive again, “Doesn’t sound like it.” 

“Hmm,” Robot considered their friends, “True.” 

“How long have they been at it?” 

“Since Molly called you.” 

“Oh wow,” Gertrude’s brow rose at that.

“Yeah.”

“Are they okay?” Gertrude threw coy out the window with her next glance, and Robot could only shrug. 

“Maybe?” 

Or not, Robot thought, Randy’s volume suddenly increasing to an attention grabbing level. 

“-because he CAN’T!” Randy’s hand slammed against the roof of Molly’s car, “He’s not allowed to!” 

“Randy,” Molly snapped, then eased the angle of her shoulders, adopting a more neutral stance, “I don’t want Robot to die any more than you do-” 

“ _Do_ you!?” 

Oh, Robot sat up, Gertrude hissed, and Molly stood further back as though Randy had physically pushed her. 

Equally shocked by the venom he had managed in those two words, Randy shook his head, “No, no I didn’t meant that. Molly, I didn’t mean that.” 

“I know,” Molly soothed, “It’s okay.” 

“Okay,” Randy nodded and let out a shaky breath, “Okay.” 

“We’re all a little stressed right now,” Molly reasoned.

“Yeah…” 

“Hey guys,” Gertrude called all eyes to her, “How about we ask what Robot thinks? Y’know, since it’s him y’all arguing about.” 

Realizing their little tiff had had an audience the whole time, both Molly and Randy shared a properly chastised look, before ducking their heads in embarrassment and shuffling over. 

“Sorry, Robot,” Molly apologized as she came to stand beside Gertrude, “Guess we were being a little inconsiderate, huh?” 

“A little?” Gertrude raised a brow. 

“Nah, it’s all good,” Robot waved her off, “I understand.” 

“She get it how you like?” Randy asked as he flopped down onto the steps next to Robot, leaning into Robot’s personal space to take the straw between his lips. 

“Randy, I drink gasoline. I think it’s fine.” 

“It is if you like gasoline,” Randy gave an exaggerated wheeze, “I don’t know, Robot, I think Gertrude might be trying to finish the job – Ow!” 

“Jerk,” Gertrude warned, sliding her foot back from where she’d nailed Randy in the ankle. Though the complete look of betrayal on his face, and Robot’s chuckle, had Gertrude smiling into the next taste of her coffee. 

“So, Robot,” Molly attempted to refocus the conversation, “What _do_ you think?” 

Giving a little hum of consideration, Robot glanced towards Randy before he stated, “I’m going to shutdown.” 

“We don’t know that,” Randy protested. 

“But we do, Randy.” 

“There might be something – you never know!” 

“And we could be lucky enough to find it,” Robot said, “But I only have a little over 140 hours left before I won’t be able to charge. Period.” 

“That’s all?” Gertrude’s coffee slipped in her grip, saved only by instinct. 

“According to my latest diagnostic,” Robot clarified, “Maybe less, depending on if what Fingle managed to do actually helped or hurt.” 

“Okay, Robot,” Randy rested his chin on Robot’s shoulder with a sigh, “What _do_ you want to do?” 

“If you guys need to keep trying to find a way, then I won’t stop you. But -” Robot looked away, staring instead at the drink in his hands, “If this is really really it, then I’d – I’d like to make the most of the time I know we have.” 

Gertrude snapped her fingers, “Like a bucket list!” 

“Exactly,” Robot perked up, “Like the hit 2007 dramedy, _The Bucket List_ , starring Morgan Freeman and Jack Nicholson.” 

Randy scoffed, “You’ve seen that, but you haven’t finished _The Lord of the Rings_?” 

"I haven't actually seen it," Robot admitted, "I only saw the trailers."

Laughing softly, Molly tried again, “If you’re sure that’s really how you want to spend your time, Robot -?” 

“It is.” 

“Then I say we do it.” 

“We can even start today,” Randy looked over the others, questioning, “If no one has anything better to do?” 

“I’ve got nothing going on,” Molly confirmed. 

“That settles it,” Gertrude slapped her thigh and put that hand on her hip, the other haphazardly keeping a hold of her coffee as she pointed, “Robot, if there’s one thing you could do today – more than anything – what would it be?”

Robot pursed his lips in thought, "Anything?"

"Anything." 

"Hmm," Robot hummed and his friends drew nearer, eagerly awaiting his request.

...

Robot was sure they had received more than their fair share of odd looks from passers-by as they had driven into the city. The source of which was surprisingly not the ungodly speeds that Randy managed to push the MomVan into, but rather the high-pitched laughter that continued to erupt from behind the wheel – even as they pulled into a space along the curb outside the courthouse.

“Did you see the look on their faces!?” Randy wheezed. 

“I did indeed.” 

“Oh my god, Robot,” Randy cried, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye, “I have never seen two people suffer so hard from a simultaneous case of whiplash in my life.” 

Robot chuckled while Randy put them in park. 

“Ah, I’m gonna puke,” Randy took in a slow breath through the nostrils, then let it out with a quick ‘Whew’, before he turned the engine off, “I mean, you are probably one of the most responsible people any of us know. What were they expecting you to say? Sky-diving lessons?” 

“Ooh,” That could be something, “I dunno, maybe.” 

“Yeah,” Randy chuckled, “Maybe.” 

“Honestly, I think they were more surprised that you agreed to go along with me.” 

“What was I supposed to do?? Leave you in the hands of some sleazebag like Reeker? Nah. If this is what you want to do, baby, this is what we do. Now, c’mon,” Randy patted Robot’s thigh before slipping out of the van, Robot following suit, albeit a bit slower. 

The pair made their way quietly past the fountains and up the pathway to the courthouse itself, Randy reaching to open the doors while he waited for Robot. 

“Once we’re done here, I’ll put in my vacation notice, and then we can go grab some grub.” 

“I heard there’s an open mic night at the Bean Machine,” Robot suggested, taking the last few steps to Randy. 

“Might be worth checking out,” Randy said, “You wanna go?” 

“Sure,” Robot nodded his thanks for the door hold, “Like a date.” 

“I know I said I wanted us to spend more time together, Robot,” Randy released the handle and entered after, “And I appreciate the effort, really I do, but you didn’t have to go so far to see that we did.” 

“I know,” Robot smiled, “Just trying to make the most of it.” 

“Speaking of, shall we proceed?” 

“Lead the way.” 

After a quick check-in at the front desk and the expected struggle with getting Robot through the metal detector, Randy did indeed lead the way. He took them past the courtroom to the side hall where the offices of all the judges and state prosecutors were located. With his original law firm dissolved, Randy had accepted the offer of a ‘temporary’ space at the courthouse. 

Robot was fairly sure they had passed that room several doors ago, and chose to ignore the actual name printed in gold plate outside the office they did end up entering. 

“Very fancy,” Robot commented as he stepped inside at Randy’s behest. 

“Thank you, I did all the decorating myself,” Randy scooted past Robot. He went to sit behind the large mahogany desk at the head of the room, and as he did so indicated the several leather armchairs arranged before him, “Why don’t you take a seat while I get everything set up.” 

“Okay,” Robot agreed and picked the center most chair. He got comfortable and waited for Randy to finish rifling through the briefcase he had produced from under the desk. 

The paneled walls around them were decorated with diplomas and placards and pictures (none of which featured Randy’s name nor face), and an array of houseplants sat happily on the windowsill. Whomever owned the office they were in seemed nice enough. 

“Alright,” Randy began, dropping the briefcase to the floor and tapping a stack of papers neat, “I’ve noticed you haven’t updated your Will since you were Lieutenant Governor.” 

“Haven’t I?” 

“Nope,” Randy peered over his sunglasses to scan the topmost document, then gave Robot a look, “Not unless you still own a vast collection of both foreign and domestic _Cat Girl Monthlies_ that you wish to bequeath Khloe Leaves in the event of your untimely demise?”

Huh, “I was wondering where those came from.” 

“Nothing to worry about,” Randy said, “Your new testament will nullify any previous versions.” 

“Oh, sweet.” 

“Now, naturally I assumed you would leave everything to me, so we’re actually done here, easy peasy lemon squeezy,” Randy pulled out a paper from the bottom of the pile and held it out to Robot, pen proffered in hand, “Just sign the dotted line – Thank You!” 

Robot merely stared at the document, then at Randy, “Randy.” 

“No?” 

“No.” 

“Ugh, fine!” Randy snatched the paper back and pulled an inkwell from the desk, “Have it your way, make me do my job.” 

“I will,” Robot said, “Thank you.” 

“I will thank you,” Randy mocked, then scanned over the first few paragraphs. A line seemed to catch his eye fairly early on, and Randy hummed, twirling the pen between his fingers. 

“First off,” Randy started, “Would you, Robot, consider us, you and me, Randy Smith… Common Law?” 

“Yeah,” Robot answered, “At least I’d say so.” 

“Badass,” Randy quickly jotted something down, lips tight against a smile, and moved on, “You got any kids I don’t know about, Robot?”

“Shouldn’t. Not that _I_ know of, anyway. And I’m pretty sure all the synths burned with the bunker, if they even counted.” 

“Okay, good to hear,” Another dip of ink, “What about Fingle and your brothers?”

“Eh,” Robot shrugged. 

“Fair enough,” and another scratch of writing, “Well, I think it’s safe to say we can now get to the only part of the Will that anyone ever really cares about.” 

“The Ferrell.”

“No. Why don’t you tell me what’s mine so we can get that out of the way?” Randy readied the pen, “You know, your adoring partner, who cares about you more than anyone else ever could.” 

“Let’s start with Robot Retail,” Robot said.

Randy sighed, “Fine.” 

“Tombs already owns half the store, I’d like her to inherit the rest of my shares,” Robot said, “All I ask is that if she does decide to sell, that she tries to keep it within the family. Like to Alice, or Norman!” 

“Easy said, and easy done.” 

“Ooh,” Robot sat up, “And I want my body converted into an animatronic that greets customers outside the store. I already have some seasonal greetings pre-recorded from an earlier venture, but I’m sure I can make some more if need be.” 

“That is very very macabre of you, Robot,” Randy commented, filling in some more, “And perhaps a teeny bit illegal. Seeing as you would technically count as a cadaver at that point.” 

“Oh, right,” Robot deflated back into his seat, “I guess just turn me into another commemorative coin then.” 

“Another?” 

“Did you want the house?” 

Moving on, Randy thought, “What about the house?” 

“By the way, Randy, I don’t think you need to actually dip that pen.” 

“Focus, Robot,” Randy insisted, “There are more important things happening than my stationary choices.” 

“Right, sorry. Anyway,” Robot continued, “I don’t really know what else to do with the property. I’m like a hermit crab, I just move on when a shinier shell comes along. Figure you’d know how to invest better than I can.” 

“Thank you, Robot,” Randy said, “I appreciate your confidence in my abilities.”

“As for the cars-” 

Randy eyes actually gleamed, “Yeeee~sss?” 

“I know he probably doesn’t deserve it, but I’d like Fingle to have the MomVan,” Robot held up a finger, “On the condition that he doesn’t change the customization. I worked very hard to lose a car show for them.” 

“Seems fair,” Randy nodded. 

“And the Mules stay with the store.” 

“Naturally.” 

“Annnd,” Robot drawled, “You get your pick of any one vehicle-” 

“Yeah I do!” Randy reached across the desk and grabbed Robot’s face to pull the bot forward just enough to plant a quick kiss full on the mouth. He released Robot with a ‘mwah!’ and fell back into his seat, “Fuck yes I do! Have I told you how much I love you, Robot?” 

Taken off guard, Robot needed a second to blink himself into the present, then answered with a smile, “A few times.” 

“Then I won’t bother you with saying it again. Ahem.” 

“Oh.” 

Randy chuckled, making a few annotations to the current paragraph. He hummed thoughtfully, “That covers a few of em, what about the rest?” 

“Hive pedal bike casino death race,” Robot stated as though that should have been obvious, “Winner and runners up get their pick.” 

“That is actually kind of amazing, Robot,” Randy nodded slowly with his approval, “We could even sell tickets.” 

“Ooh, yeah, good idea.” 

“Sorry you won’t be there to see it…” 

“No, I’m good. I’ve imagined it enough as is.” 

“Have you,” Randy laughed, “Who’s favored to win?” 

“Bubba,” Robot answered, “Though his greatest asset, his sheer physical prowess, could also lead to his greatest downfall.” 

“The things your mind gets up to when I’m not there,” Randy shook his head, “Alright, almost done. Last, but not least-” 

“The money.” 

“-the money! Yes!” 

Robot hummed, “I think it’s fair to say I’m able to leave a more positive legacy than most.” 

“That is very true,” Randy agreed, “You are a paragon of kindness, Robot. Like an iron Mr. Rogers, if Mr. Rogers had robbed banks before he settled the neighborhood.” 

“Precisely. And I’d like to extend that legacy after I’m gone,” Robot relaxed into his seat, crossing one knee over the other and settling his hands atop, “Have you ever heard about dontshootthedog.com?” 

“Robot,” Randy threw the pen aside and placed his face in his hands, “You can’t be serious. Tell me you’re not serious.” 

“Dogs are dying, Randy,” Robot deadpanned. 

“Nooooo,” Randy dropped his brow against the desk, rattling the stationary, “Robot, don’t do this to me.” 

“Poncho’s a dog,” Robot’s eyes followed the bounce of Randy’s head, “Did you know Poncho’s a dog, Randy?” 

Mahogany did wonders for stifling the wails of a man betrayed. 

“Think of the dogs, Randy. Think of Poncho.” 

It was only later, when the pair had been sequestered into a private corner of the Bean Machine, listening to a brokenhearted white boy on acoustic guitar, that Randy had the mind to voice the question of the day. 

“What is actually on your list, though?” Randy asked, for once mindful of disturbing the other patrons. 

“Nothing,” Robot admitted, “When your life expectancy is just shy of eternity, I guess you tend not to think about these things. Besides, I always thought if I were to die, it’d be in a blaze of self-sacrifice.” 

“Like lowering yourself into the foundry to prevent an apocalyptic robotic uprising in the future.” 

“Exactly.” 

Randy clicked with the side of his mouth, “No offense, Robot, but that doesn’t leave us much to work with.” 

“I think we’ll manage to have a good time at least. Besides, I don’t need much,” Robot laid his hand out on the table between them, “Got you, don’t I?” 

“Til the bitter end.” 

Like they’d been made to hold each other, Randy’s palm slipped into Robot’s and their fingers curled together.

…

A small ping sounded somewhere in the dark, pulling Robot from the cycle of his sleep mode. Randy was sprawled next to him, still soundly in dreamland, drooling on the thigh he’d chosen for a pillow. Beside the bong on the coffee table, Robot’s phone blinked with a notification.

Careful not to disturb the sleeping boyfriend, Robot reached forward, limited by both partner and charge cable. His fingers clinked against the table’s glass top, then barely snagged the edge of the casing and Robot took the opportunity. 

Phone secured, Robot turned on the screen to find a text from Pringle Can waiting for him. When he opened said text he was admittedly a little disappointed, though not surprised, at its contents. 

_‘bank?’_

Typing in a quick _‘no :)’_ , Robot hit send and then checked the time. 

Still an hour to sunrise. 

Robot turned the phone off, leaving it for the cushion to hold, and returned to sleep.

.♥.


	4. Something Fun

.♥.

“You – Robot – are not at your store.”

Gertrude’s pout was all but visible through the phone, though that wasn’t what made Robot pause. 

“Uh, am I supposed to be there?” 

“No.” 

Oh thank goodness, Robot relaxed. 

The day had been going relatively well all things considered. In fact, other than a few rotary hiccups, Robot had felt almost normal. He hadn’t had to reboot, didn’t trust himself to anyway, and it seemed Fingle’s efforts had at least staved off the possible damage to his memory drive. He hoped the trend continued, even if just for a little while. 

“So, where are you?” Gertrude demanded.

“Pastel Customs.” 

“Ugh, Robot! What are you doing all the way out there? You get a new ride?” 

“No, I had a minor malfunction pulling Randy’s car out of the garage this morning,” Robot explained and Gertrude inhaled sharply. 

“Are you okay??” 

“Oh yeah, I’m fine,” Robot reassured, “Like I said it was minor. But we did decide it was best if I didn’t drive, so Randy had to.” 

“Ohhhh,” Yeah, she was getting it. 

“Fun fact, you can indeed drive a car without the front axle attached,” Robot said. 

“Yeah, you really shouldn’t be able to do that.” 

“That’s what Mila’s been trying to tell Randy, but I don’t think it’s registering,” Robot turned to check on said Randy, who had thought it wise to try and talk shop with their mechanic. Thankfully, Mila was taking Randy’s part master bullshit, part cereal box trivia, in stride. 

Gertrude laughed into the phone, “Okay, well don’t go nowhere! I’m bringing you a surprise.” 

“Okay, won’t go nowhere,” Robot said. 

“Promise?” 

“Promise.”

“Okay! Bye!” 

“See you soon,” Robot hung up, smiling softly. 

Robot hoped that Gertrude’s surprise was as much for herself as it was for him. She had certainly seemed to be in higher spirits than when he had seen her over the last couple days. None of his friends were free from the familiarity of loss, and Robot worried about how they were really taking the latest news. He knew a direct approach was probably the best, but he was also relatively certain that that was an awkward silence in the making. 

At least Randy was easy to keep an eye on.

“And that’s when-” Randy took a few rapid breaths through his nose, “-Okay, so that’s when-” then wheezed into outright laughter, unable to complete the anecdote he’d been ‘regaling’ Mila with. 

Blessed with a veritable well of patience, Mila merely hummed in interest, focus elbow deep in the mess Randy had made of the bronze station wagon above her. Robot was honestly surprised that she had agreed to give repairing it a go in the first place. He’d personally been ready to call it and help Randy file the insurance claim.

“Yeah, so,” Randy sniffed, calming down from his humor as he leaned against the front of the car and scanned over the exposed engine block. Robot stood just outside the garage, close enough to be talked to, but nowhere near within range to act as anyone’s impulse control.

Hence the flash of horror when Randy reached for something. 

“So what’s this do?” 

“No- don’t!” Mila hissed and a tool clattered, and Robot moved uselessly towards them. 

Fortunately, an all too recognizable pink and teal Sultan chose that precise moment to arrive, drifting to a stop between Robot and the garage. The fact that Robot remained well on his feet, and the distinct lack of sirens in the distance, tipped Robot to the fact that the head of hair behind the wheel was probably not Fingle’s. A hunch proven correct when Gertrude rose victorious from the driver’s seat. 

Apparently her earlier protest about distance had been a token one. 

With a bark of amusement, Randy finally left Mila to work and joined the others outside. 

“Wha-ha-ut did you do,” Randy clapped his hands on his knees, staring at the Fingle SeDan as if he couldn’t quite believe it was the genuine article, “Gertrude! How did you get this?” 

“Oh you know,” Gertrude leaned back on the door, “You’d be surprised what people just leave lying around outside of banks.” 

“No, you did not,” Randy laughed, “You are so dead.” 

“Pfff, please,” Gertrude flipped her hair, “Fingle doesn’t even know.” 

“You sure?” 

“What, you think I can’t steal a car, Randy?” 

“Did not say that,” Randy ticked, “But you have to admit, Fingle’s rarely far behind this thing. It’s more his baby than Robot.” 

“Whatever, that old man doesn’t scare me,” Gertrude shrugged, “By the way, where is Robot?” 

“Howdy.” 

“What the-” Gertrude startled out of her easy stance, and Robot chuckled.

“Sorry,” Robot offered.

“Have you been there the whole time!?”

“Yeah.” 

“Oh,” Gertrude cringed, looking between Robot and the Sultan. 

Robot cocked his head, “What?” 

“Nothing,” Gertrude shook her head, then folded her arms atop the car’s roof, expression brightening, “Hey, you wanna go do something?” 

“Fuck yes,” Randy said, “God, I feel like we’ve been here for hours.” 

“Not you,” Gertrude shot down, “Robot.” 

“Why not me?”

“Randy,” Gertrude rolled her eyes hard enough to pin Randy directly with the exasperation. 

“Yeah, I’m down,” Robot interrupted, attempting to keep things civil. He opened the passenger’s side door and slid into the seat before either of them could say otherwise. 

Pleased with the development, Gertrude drummed on the car and then slipped back behind the wheel, locking the doors as soon as hers was shut. She rolled down the window just enough to be able to convey the full scope of her smugness to Randy. 

“Are you kidnapping my boyfriend?” Randy had his arms crossed, attention already drifting to the phone in hand. 

“Molly said it was _my_ turn with the Robot,” Gertrude gave her best petulant pout. 

“I’m not a dog, Gertrude.” 

“Where is Molly, by the way?” Randy inquired. 

“She said she was working on something, but she’ll be by later to check in,” Gertrude said.

“Cool, cool,” The snap of Randy’s phone camera was instantly followed by the ring of an incoming call, which Randy answered, “Oh hey, Fingle! Funny you should say that, guess what I just found!” 

“Fuck you, Randy,” Gertrude turned the key and hit the gas. 

The sultan’s wheels spun in the gravel for a good few seconds before they found traction and the SeDan peeled onto the highway, leaving Randy in the dust. Watching Randy’s raised middle finger fade into the distance of the rear view mirror, Robot couldn’t help the smile at Gertrude’s returning snigger. 

A companionable silence fell between the friends, both enjoying the quiet of the open road. Robot took the chance to send Randy a quick _‘Love u’_ , to which he received a positive response, while Gertrude rolled her window up and put the A/C on. 

After they were around the next bend, Gertrude bit her lip, cuing Robot in to the incoming conversation. 

“Hey, Robot?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Um,” Gertrude started, “Are we still not telling anyone about the you know what?”

“Correct.” 

“Alright, thought I’d double check.” 

“I just don’t want people to start getting weird about it, is all,” Robot explained, “Try to keep things normal for as long as possible.” 

“Oh no, I get it,” Gertrude assured, “Don’t worry, Robot, I promise I won’t tell anyone you don’t want me to.” 

“Much appreciated, thank you.” 

Gertrude hummed, “By the way, how you holding up?” 

“Surprisingly well,” Robot said, because he was. 

“That’s good!” 

“Sorry if I seem a bit slow today. I’m still here,” Robot tapped his head, “But the gears have been a bit wonky.” 

“Aww,” Gertrude cooed, “You’re gonna start walking like Fingle now.” 

“Oh god, I hope not,” Death would not come soon enough if that were true.

...

Of all the places Gertrude could have taken them, Robot had hardly expected the hardware store. Yet there they were, plain as day, solo parked on the striped asphalt of a You Tool. Or, Robot was parked. Gertrude had cracked the windows and promised to only be a minute before leaving him in the car.

If their destination had been confusing, the haul Gertrude eventually showed up with was even more so. 

“The hell do we need all that for?” Robot eased himself out of the passenger seat, staring at the shopping cart crashed into Fingle’s headlight. A cart that contained a butt load of duct tape, a spray can of pink paint, a spray can of teal paint, and two massive plastic bowl planters. 

“Oh, Robot,” Gertrude reached for one of the black elastic rolls, “You didn’t think the _car_ was the surprise, did you?” 

That look would be dangerous under different circumstances. 

“Kinda?” 

“Oh ho ho, Robot,” the pull of tape had never been more ominous. 

Again, Gertrude took Robot off guard, flipping one of the round planters out of the cart and slamming it atop the Sultan’s hood. She then directed Robot to hold the top while she applied a base layer of tape, securing the bowl to the car. They then did the same to the other side with the second planter, before Gertrude handed Robot his own roll of tape with the simple instruction, “Car tits.” 

And she wasn’t wrong. 

Slowly, but surely, with hundreds of yards of duct tape between them, a pair of ample misshapen breasts started to arise from the hood of the Fingle SeDan. At some point, to Robot’s dismay, Gertrude had giggled to herself and ran into the store – only to return with a set of tennis balls. 

“Dare I ask what inspired this?” Robot inquired a while later as he moved out of range, Gertrude gearing up a spray can.

They’d had to rush the boob job, leaving the poor things uneven and lumpy. But Gertrude’s hair had started to curl in the increased humidity and Robot’s solar input had dipped, a sure warning for an approaching storm. 

“Saw Fingle wearing that stupid wig of his,” Gertrude did a test spray across a strip of tape. The hex code wasn’t quite right, but they were on a time limit, “And I figured he could do with some payback after he stole your truck like that.” 

“He did steal my truck.” 

“Exactly. Now, what do you think, Robot,” Gertrude stepped back to scrutinize her canvas with a critical eye, “Pink or teal for the _nips-_ ” 

Turning the last word into an inhale, Gertrude choked on her own humor and dropped the spray can as she fought for breath through the peals of laughter. Robot quietly joined in, watching his friend sink to a crouch beside the car, the reality of what they were doing having finally hit her. 

While Gertrude took a moment to recompose herself, Robot reached into the cart and held out the other can. 

“Teal,” Robot decided, and Gertrude snorted. She accepted the paint, then Robot’s hand, and got back to her feet. 

“Teal it is.” 

When all was said and over, Robot had to admit, they’d done a pretty good job. Those were indeed a honkin’ pair of car tits. How anyone was supposed to see over the dash was a worry above their pay grade. 

“You know,” Gertrude said, admiring the fruits of their labor, “I actually think the neckline was a good idea.” 

“She’s classy,” Robot agreed. 

“Here, we need a picture,” Gertrude grabbed Robot and spun him around to stand in front of the hood. She fished her phone from its pocket and backtracked a few steps. 

“Okay, Robot,” Gertrude primed the camera, “Say ‘cheese’ on the count of three!”

“Alrighty,” Robot threw a peace sign.

“One, two, th-” 

The moment the camera clicked, the sky cracked open with a roll of thunder, releasing a torrent of rain. 

Gertrude yelped and shoved her phone into the protection of her shirt as she ran for the car. Flinging open the door, Gertrude called for Robot to follow. When he turned to do so, however, Robot found that his legs had other ideas.

The power below his knees abruptly snapped away and Robot fell hard onto the asphalt into a growing puddle of pink and teal. He faintly registered Gertrude shouting through the storm as he tried to rise on his own, only to collapse once more. His arms seemed to be slowly following the route of his legs. 

Then Gertrude was at his side and surprisingly strong hands had Robot flipped over and sat upright in record time. The change in angle helped rattle something back into place, and while Gertrude settled him against the Sultan’s front bumper, Robot flexed his fingers through the strange prickling sensation running into them. 

Thankfully, the initial downpour eased, and when Gertrude next spoke, Robot could hear her properly. 

“Are you okay?” Gertrude asked, guiding Robot’s head with a touch to the temple, searching for any possible damage, “What happened? Was it the lightning?” 

“No no no,” Robot waved off the concern, “Just a- just another minor malfunction, that’s all. Nothing new.” 

“Your legs?” Gertrude guessed and quickly helped straighten them, pushing one of Robot’s feet with the palm of her hand, “Can you feel this?”

“Uh, I don’t know if I would’ve been able to feel that normally.” 

“Can you get up, should I do a restart?” 

“No,” Robot moved his head from Gertrude’s well intentioned touch, startled by the fear that suggestion had spiked in him, “No, I’m alright." 

“Hold on,” Gertrude shoved off Robot’s shoulder to her feet and swiftly retrieved something from the backseat of the SeDan. When she returned, it was with a green filled water bottle. 

“Sorry, forgot I had these,” Gertrude gave the bottle a good shake then popped the top and handed it over to Robot for inspection, “Made some last night when I couldn’t sleep. Thought you might need a better boost than that sugar shit you get on the shelf.” 

“Hey,” Robot protested, “I sell that shit.” 

“Duh, I know,” Gertrude tapped the bottom of the bottle, “Drink.” 

Not in a position to object, Robot did as he was told. 

Taking the pleasant hum as a good sign, Gertrude went from a kneel to a sit and scooted herself into the space next to Robot. She pulled her knees to her chin, and sat staring into the car’s grill, fingers picking at the laces on her shoes. Robot watched for a moment as the rain darkened her shirt and plastered her bangs to her face, creating little rivulets across freckled skin. 

“You alright?” Robot asked.

“Yeah,” Gertrude tucked her chin down. Quiet. 

“You sure?” Robot glanced skywards at the sound of a distancing rumble, “I might be a minute. You could go wait in the car if you want.” 

“No, that’s okay,” Gertrude fell backwards onto the asphalt, arms flung to the side, and allowed her next words to drown in a gurgle of rain water.

...

The power flowed into Robot’s legs alongside the first few rays of a returning sun. Beside him, Gertrude peeled herself off the parking lot, looking rather done with the weather. Together, they got to their feet, and Robot finished the last of his energy drink while Gertrude unstuck the t-shirt from her skin.

Running fingers through damp, messy hair, Gertrude focused on her reflection in the windshield. 

“Hey, Robot?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Would you have told me.” 

At Robot’s silence, Gertrude pursed her lips and looked at him. 

“If I hadn’t been there,” she clarified, “Would you have told me?” 

“I dunno,” Robot answered honestly, “I’d like to think I would’ve, but… Hmm. How do you tell someone something like this?” 

“I guess that’s fair. I certainly wouldn’t want to,” Gertrude pulled her shirt away from her body again, this time twisting it between her hands until it dribbled, “Speaking of uncomfortable news, I know chaffing isn’t an issue for you, but-!” 

“Oh, right, I was about to say – Do you wanna go get changed?” 

“Please!” 

While the Grapeseed clothing store certainly wasn’t the closest, it was the most conveniently placed for any possible future plans. Once there, Gertrude had wasted no time in picking out a quick, cute outfit, leaving Robot to sit patiently on one of the benches while she hit the changing rooms. Robot was just starting to contemplate an array of rainbow colored shorts when Gertrude slid her pile of wet clothes into the paper bag on the bench with him. 

“Feeling better?” Robot asked. 

“So much,” Gertrude did a little turn in the full length mirror, “I dunno, Robot, what you think? How I look?” 

“Damn fine,” A new voice said from the store’s entrance, “As always.” 

“Jacky!” Gertrude gasped and weaved through the clothing wracks to give her beau a quick kiss on the jaw, “Where did you come from?” 

“Was looking for you,” Jacky held up his phone, showing Gertrude the various messages that had went ominously unanswered for the last half hour, “You, uh, failed to pick up.” 

“Oh my god,” Gertrude fished into the pockets of her new denim jacket and pulled out her phone, rushing to turn it on, “Sorry. It got a bit wet, and I am super short on rice at the moment.” 

Jacky placed his hands reassuringly on Gertrude’s shoulders, “That’s alright, glad you’re okay. Randy did mention you might be with Robot, but he also said you stole Fingle’s car?” 

“Did he?” That got an uncomfortable laugh and hair twist, “Uh, yeah, about that-” 

“Hey, Jacky,” Robot greeted as he stood, providing the out if Gertrude did indeed want one. 

“Oh hey,” Jacky said, “Good to see you, Robot.” 

“You too. How you doing?” 

“Better than I was a minute ago,” Jacky looked pointedly at Gertrude, “That’s for sure.” 

“Good to hear,” Robot smiled. 

“So,” Gertrude drawled, walking her fingers up Jacky’s chest, “Were you just looking to say hi, or was there something else?” 

“There was, in fact, something else, believe it or not,” Jacky said. 

“Well, spit it,” Gertrude urged. 

“We’re having a big cookout down at the Snake Pit to welcome some of the new prospects,” Jacky started, “I was thinking, you might like to go.” 

“Oh, um,” Gertrude glanced at Robot, hooking her forefingers together, “Sorry, Jacky, I’m kinda hangin’ with Robot right now.” 

“Robot can come with,” Jacky offered, “Though I only brought my bike. Y’all might have to learn to be real comfortable with each other real quick.” 

“That’s alright,” Robot spoke up, unsure if Jacky was joking or not, “I think I’m actually gonna head down and see how the store’s doing.” 

“You sure?” Gertrude asked. 

“Oh yeah, you two go ahead. I had fun today.” 

“Well, alright,” Gertrude strode over to grab the bag of clothes and place a hand on Robot’s arm, “But you call me if you need anything, okay? I’ll make sure to have my phone on.” 

(“So that’s how it is!”) 

“Will do,” Robot almost stumbled when Gertrude grabbed him for a parting hug. He returned what he could, and she released him soon enough, heading back over to Jacky. 

“You need a ride, Robot?” Jacky asked. 

“Nah,” Robot said, “The walk’ll do me some good.” 

“Okay then,” Jacky opened the door for Gertrude, “See ya around. Stay safe.” 

“See ya, enjoy your barbecue!” 

“Bye Robot!” Gertrude called, heading out under Jacky’s arm, “Love you!” 

“Love you,” Robot moved to the windows to watch the couple mount Jacky’s bike and strap on their helmets. When they pulled out onto the road, Robot returned Gertrude’s parting wave.

Standing in the store, Robot gave it a beat then announced, “We parked it round back.” 

A poorly dressed, platinum blond mannequin moved away from the rest, sheathing its silently drawn switchblade. 

“How long ago did you see me?”

“Since we walked in,” Robot turned to face his creator, “You’re not that hard to spot, Fingle.” 

“ _They_ didn’t notice,” Fingle indicated the absent pair. 

“I think Gertrude was just being nice – wait,” Robot narrowed his gaze, “You weren’t watching her change, were you?” 

“No!!!” Fingle gagged, “Gross!” 

“Just making sure, she is my friend after all.” 

“And my ex-wife! You know what, Robot,” Fingle sneered, “You disgust me.” 

“So you’ve said.” 

“Sometimes I can’t believe I ever made you.” 

“Neither can I,” Robot agreed. 

“Anyway,” Fingle pushed past Robot to exit the store, Robot close behind, “You wanna rob something?” 

“No.” 

“Pfft, typical boring Robot,” Fingle scoffed, “You know, I bet they could prop your lifeless corpse behind the counter of your stupid store and no one would ever even know the difference.” 

“Randy said that’s probably illegal.” 

“… I don’t wanna know,” Fingle waved Robot away as he hobbled around the corner of the clothing shop. Robot barely had to wait a moment before he heard the SeDan start up and Fingle came screeching to halt an inch from crushing Robot’s foot. 

“The fuck Robot!?” 

“What?” 

“The hell did you do?” Fingle frantically indicated the lopsided lumps of tape flaked with what paint hadn’t washed away, the left tennis ball peeled and hanging by a twisted strip. 

“Car tits.”

“What!?” 

“Gertrude and I were prank crafting before the storm,” Robot explained, “Consider this payment for my truck.”

“This better come off,” Fingle growled. 

“It’s just tape, Fingle. Besides, this gives you an excuse to see Mila.” 

“Which I would appreciate, if you hadn’t wrecked my car!” 

“It was a shopping cart,” Robot defended, “If anything, I’d file a complaint against whoever made your headlight.” 

“I can’t, they’re French, I don’t speak French, Robot,” Fingle reached into the passenger seat and then dumped Gertrude’s backpack on the ground, “And take your shit back.” 

“Hey, can I get a ride?” 

“To bank?” 

“No.” 

“Then, no – Later~” Fingle punched the gas and his voice faded into the distance. 

Sighing, Robot picked up Gertrude’s pack and pulled out another bottle of the homemade energy drink. He popped the lid, hooked the bag onto his shoulder, and started the trek towards Robot Retail. The walk shouldn’t be too far, Robot figured, so he decided to take his time, enjoy the post storm countryside. 

He got maybe thirty feet before his phone rang. 

Oh! 

“Hey, Randy.” 

“Hey, where you at?” Randy had the distracted lilt of a man behind the wheel. 

“Making a quick stop at Robot Retail. Why, what’s up?” 

“Okay, so, first off, how are you?” 

Robot resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He knew that tone meant more than the cordial check-in, and Robot understood, he just wished that wasn’t the first thing out of his friends’ mouths lately. 

“I’m alright, Randy,” Robot said, “Getting a bit tired, but that’s nothing new.” 

“Like you need to charge tired, or…?” 

“I should be fine,” Robot took another swig of the bottle, “Gertrude made me some energy drinks. They’re actually pretty good, I think they’re helping.” 

“Okay, okay, glad to hear – you know I worry.” 

“I know, but really, I’m alright.” 

“Now, secondly,” Randy continued, “You up for some fun?” 

“Uh,” Robot checked his charge, “That depends.” 

“Nothing strenuous,” Randy assured, “Just you, me, the beautiful summer evening, plus something we haven’t done in a while.” 

Robot stopped, “It’s not surgery is it?” 

The answering wheeze pulled a smile from Robot and he continued down the road.

“No? Never say never, though, baby, and neither should you.” 

“Alright,” Robot agreed, “I’m down.” 

“Badass. See you in 10, bitch.” 

“Bitch.” 

“Bitch”

“Bitch.” 

“Love you!” 

Robot chuckled, “Love you too. See you soon, Randy.” 

“Bye! Oh fff-”

The call cut short, and Robot hummed. Between the drink and the promise of a nice night, Robot was already feeling more lively. With a bit more pep in his step, Robot took the risk of picking up the pace. 

Soon as he reached the bridge, however, Robot caught wind of the sirens outside Robot Retail, and the all too familiar group of boys bounding from the storefront into a cancerous pink and teal Sultan. There was the usual fruitless discharge of tasers, and then the chase was afoot. 

Robot was also getting awfully sick of sighing.

...

Taking Robot to unexpected places was becoming a trend, though that was hardly a complaint. Especially when it led to such interesting detours as the Vespucci helipad.

“Did you learn to fly?” Robot leaned forward in his seat to get a better view of the parked Frogger as Randy pulled them in to the lot. In the distance, Robot could make out the top of the pier’s roller coaster.

“Hell no,” Randy began backing the car into an empty space, revealing the other side of the helicopter and their awaiting pilot, “I did better.” 

“Randy,” Mara exclaimed as soon as the pair were out of the car and heading her way, “You didn’t tell me this was for Robot!” 

Mock offended, Randy put a hand to his chest, “Who else would I order a romantic helicopter ride for?” 

“Okay, you didn’t ‘order’ anything,” Mara corrected, “And nowhere in our conversation did you _ever_ mention romance – thank god.” 

“Wh- huh- how-” Randy stuttered, unable to grasp the belief he needed, “The roses, Mara!” 

“You never said anything about roses, either!” 

“Back in the car!” Randy turned on his heel and headed straight for the station wagon, “We’ll just pretend this never happened. Let’s pray I can still cancel Anya’s delivery of champagne and dancers to the top of Chiliad.” 

Ignoring Randy, Robot politely greeted Mara with a nod, “Hello, Mara.” 

“Hello, Robot,” Mara replaced the fond exasperation for a fond smile, “How’re you?” 

“Doing good, doing good. Yourself?” 

Arriving at the car, Randy honked a very pointed honk. 

“A little disappointed that John got called in for a shift,” Mara said, “I was looking forward to spending our day off together. But then Randy messaged me, asking for a ride, and I figured, why not? Already had the go ahead for John and I, might as well not waste it.” 

“Well, we do appreciate it-” 

Several rapid honks sounded out, followed by one long continuous note. 

“-Even if Randy’s behavior implies otherwise.” 

Mara gave a small laugh, then tilted her head towards the Frogger, “You’ve been in one of these before, right?” 

“Oh yeah,” Robot nodded, “Though the last few times I was in one form of custody or another.” 

“You know, Robot,” Mara said, giving him a good once over, “Sometimes I forget you are the very definition of ‘Don’t judge a book by its cover.’”

“Why, thank you.” 

A car door slammed shut behind them and Randy reappeared at their side, “We doing this, or what?” 

When everyone was strapped in – Randy discreetly helping Robot when metal fingers refused to cooperate – Mara gave a final safety briefing over their headsets, then started the rotors. Next to him, Robot didn’t miss the slight bounce of Randy’s knee. 

“You boys buckled in?” Mara’s voice asked over the com. Randy hummed an affirmative, and Robot followed with his own verbal confirmation, and Mara laughed, “Alright, no take-backs!” 

The first leg of takeoff hit a minor bump, and Mara’s _Oops_ only gave credence to Randy’s sudden hold on Robot’s wrist over the armrest. Robot patted Randy’s hand to try and get him to relax, at least a little bit. 

“You’re sober, right?” Randy asked into the mic. 

“Probably,” Mara teased. 

“Could be worse, Randy,” Robot gave Randy’s hand a squeeze before letting go, looking out the window to watch the port fall further and further below, “Carter could be flying.” 

“Don’t wanna think about that, Robot,” Randy’s pitch was high, but his posture eased and the death grip he’d had on Robot slipped away. 

“Hey, you contacted me, remember,” Mara warned, “Now, hush up and enjoy yourselves.” 

There were some wonders of the world that would never grow tiresome, and flight would always be among them. There were few other ways to temporarily slip from mortal tethers than to enter the realm of the birds, and witness the giants of everyday life become playthings on a greater battlefield – a simultaneous moment passing for the countless people beneath them. 

In Robot’s opinion, that was all pretty neat. 

“And to our right, you have the Maze Bank Arena,” Mara announced over the intercom, to appropriate oohs and awes, taking them north past Grove Street and Forum Drive, “But look out, up ahead, it’s Downtown Los Santos.” 

The helicopter dipped in altitude, bringing them down between the skyscrapers. The cabin flushed with the gold of sunset reflecting off the flanking glass towers. Below, the lights of Legion Square popped on, highlighting the sharp corners of the geometric sculptures. They pulled back between the buildings, getting another proper gander before Mara took them north over Pillbox towards Vinewood and the hills. 

“Pretty cool, eh, Robot,” Randy checked in with a shoulder bump. 

“This is pretty cool,” Robot agreed, entranced by the city sprawled below. 

“10-4, Fox-1 is 76 to the freeway,” Mara abruptly said over the com, the casino on their horizon, “Hope you guys don’t mind a detour.”

“Depends on the detour,” Randy quipped. 

“A fun one, I hope. Dispatch needs eyes on a 10-80 until Air-1 can intercept,” Mara answered, “Don’t worry, I’ll keep us plenty safe.” 

Mara regained some altitude then veered hard to the east, bringing them over the Los Santos Freeway. Sure enough, Robot spotted two yellow muscle cars traveling well above the legal speed limit. Possibly catching sight of the copter, the two cars suddenly crossed into oncoming traffic, barely avoiding an accident to get onto the ramp. 

Randy leaned out of his seat to get a better view while Mara updated dispatch, the other end of the radio mute for the passengers. 

“10-4, heading west onto Vinewood Boulevard,” The helicopter dipped, angling itself to keep line of sight as the cars headed into the residential area, “Circling south through a side alley, now heading back north towards the hills. Pulling onto Baytree.” 

As Mara turned to follow, Robot finally caught sight of the red and blue surging into Vinewood, not too far behind. 

“Twenty bucks says they’re headed for the observatory,” Randy bet. 

“And they’re turning west onto East Galileo,” Mara updated, the humor evident in her voice, “Looks like someone owes you twenty bucks, Randy.” 

“We’ll call it even, for the ride.” 

“Copy that, Air-1. Fox-1 veering off,” Mara pulled the Frogger hard towards the west, clearing Air-1’s path to the flood of flashing lights at the observatory, “Stay safe, guys.” 

Keeping their path over the hills, Mara took them further and further from the scene, the illuminated Vinewood sign falling ever distant. 

“Phew,” Mara blew into the mic, “Well, that was exciting, huh? You two good?” 

“What was that all about?” Robot asked by way of answer.

Mara shrugged, “Police business. There’ll probably be a statement on it tomorrow.”

“Thought it was your day off,” Randy mentioned.

“Oh it is, but crime never sleeps, so unfortunately, neither can we,” Mara said. 

A comfortable silence came over the trio as they left the excitement of police work behind and made their way towards the Kortz Center and the bluffs. Out of their peripheral, the city’s neon nightlife started to come awake, tacky sign after tacky sign popping into existence on an otherwise dark landscape. 

Starting to feel the wear of the day, Robot relaxed completely in his seat, slouching into Randy in a silent threat to fall asleep. He might have done so too, if Mara hadn’t brought them down over the water onto the last stretch of their tour. 

As they began to follow the shoreline to Vespucci, Robot’s eyes widened and he braced against the belt strapped over his lap to get a better view out the window. Next to him, Randy had abandoned the seatbelt entirely, and Robot smiled at the weight settling across his back. 

Alight with the embers of civilization, Del Perro Pier stood as a living beacon home along a gently growing horizon.

.♥.


	5. Something Friendly

.♥.

Half considered property himself, Robot was amazed at the sheer amount of stuff that had accumulated into his possession over the years. His wardrobe alone had offered several dusty stacks of mementos, and under the bed Robot had discovered at least a dozen similarly filled shoeboxes. Which was ridiculous considering Robot had never once needed to buy a pair of shoes in his life.

Or at least none that he could recall. 

And to be quite honest, Robot was a little distracted recalling a great many other things at the moment. 

His lazy day of spring cleaning had gotten derailed almost immediately by a box full of floppy discs. Each had their own little label written in sharpie and ranging from _Best Memes of 20XX_ to, _Lost Ebay Bids_ and simply, _butts_. Interest more than peaked, and disc drive operable, Robot had made the mistake of satiating his curiosity. 

Fortunately, hearing Robot needed some time in, Randy had hurried to lend a hand – and had promptly fallen into the same trap. Still, Robot appreciated the company. 

Sat cross legged on the bedroom floor, Robot had just started his 500th replay of a sneezing panda cub when he heard Randy make an intrigued noise from the depths of the wardrobe. 

“Robot, what’s this?” 

Robot looked over his shoulder and found Randy standing with an old beer bottle in hand, the dust cleared away on the label to reveal Randy’s name scrawled over top. 

“Ooh, I was wondering where that would turn up,” Robot said, then turned back to flipping through the floppies, “Do you remember when Arch was hunting you? Right after Tony and Barry came back?” 

“That depends on who’s askin’.” 

“Me.” 

“Then maybe, maybe,” There was a quiet hiss and Randy took a loud sniff. 

Robot hummed, he should probably save _’butts’_ for last, “Well, you gave me that beer for safekeeping, just in case. You also told me to put your ashes by the register, which I thankfully did not have to do.” 

“Aw, Robot, you kept it this whole time,” Randy fawned, “And this thing is probably a bio-hazard and should not be opened at any cost.” 

“Opened it already, didn’t you,” Of course he did.

“Yep,” Randy rasped. 

“Any good?” 

“Hmm.” 

“What’s it taste like?” 

“Regret. And memories! But mostly, no, no hold on,” Randy smacked his lips a couple times, then muffled a bad sounding burp, “Nope, definitely entirely regret. ‘Scuse me, Robot.” 

Randy brushed past Robot and out the bedroom door, Robot calling after, “Mouthwash is under the sink.” 

Ooh, Robot held up a disc, “Banned DDR moves. Interesting.” 

The mysteries of the underground arcade dance community were put on hold when the doorbell chose that moment to ring. 

“Randy?” Robot called, hoping his partner wasn’t too indisposed to answer. Unfortunately, that appeared not to be the case as a beat passed and the doorbell rang again. 

Tucking the floppy into place, Robot slid the box aside and used the bed to leverage himself to his feet. Vertigo hit almost instantly and Robot stumbled back into the wall, catching the doorframe to stay upright. The bell sounded for a third time and Robot silently asked whomever it was for some patience as he counted down from ten. 

Still standing when he reached one, Robot slowly released his hold on the doorway and straightened. With everything in order, Robot finally padded out across the living room to answer the front door. 

“Robot!” 

“Molly! Welcome,” Robot stepped to the side, granting Molly entrance, and was greeted by another face, “Tombs!” 

“Hey, Robot,” Tombs followed Molly in, setting a canvas tote down on the nearest surface, “Long time see. Sorry about yesterday, seems Fingle got away.” 

Robot closed the door behind her, “That doesn’t surprise me.” 

“I promise I’ll only take my smoke breaks _after_ the store’s been robbed, not before,” Tombs held up crossed fingers, scout’s honor style, and Robot chuckled. 

“That’s alright,” Robot reassured, “I doubt they got much anyway. I think Fingle was just out to spite me.” 

“That sounds like Fingle,” Molly commented and moved to the tote, “Randy about?” 

“Hopefully. Though I may have managed to finally outlive him,” Robot jerked his head towards the closed bathroom door, from which there came a distinctly unpleasant noise. 

Molly winced in sympathy, “That does not sound good.”

“He got himself into this,” Robot said, “Now only Hatsune Miku can get him out.” 

“Never took you for the praying sort, Robot.” 

“Eh,” Robot half shrugged and rested his weight against the wall corner as discreetly as he could, “So, what’s up?” 

“Ta-da,” Molly whipped around to reveal a set of DVDs in hand, “ _The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air_ , all six seasons. Heard you haven’t seen this one yet.” 

“Indeed I have not.” 

“Also,” Tombs reached over and started pulling out more, “Cards, Uno, Yahtzee, popcorn, chips, candy, just snacks in general. Soda, and like half a dozen schwag joints?” 

“Also also,” Molly continued, “Gertrude is coming by in an hour with pizza and Cluckin’ Bell. It’s that movie night we keep never managing to have!” 

“So it would seem,” Robot carefully stepped closer to survey the bounty laid out on the small dining table before him. Flanking him, Molly and Tombs waited for a reaction, glancing behind him at each other. 

“Um,” Robot began, not quite sure how to break the news. 

“What?” Molly leaned into his peripheral, “Is something wrong?” 

“Not exactly,” Robot said, “It’s just… I only own a VHS player.” 

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Tombs laughed, and Molly relaxed, clapping Robot on the shoulder. 

“Why am I not surprised,” Tombs shook her head and was on the phone in a hot minute, “Hey, you free?” 

Two hours later saw Robot playing pillow to Randy on the loveseat while Molly, Ricky, and Alice lounged barefoot across the couch. Tombs had opted for the floor, efficiently rolling on the coffee table what she didn’t plan to smoke that night. On the TV in front of them, Will Smith and Alfonso Ribeiro bounced lines off each other to a laugh track as Alice’s DVD player hummed quietly beneath. 

“Man, _fuck_ Carlton,” Randy laughed, “I hate that guy.” 

“What’s wrong with Carlton?” Ricky asked, “I think he’s a good comedic foil to Will’s character.” 

“Of course you’d say that, Ricky.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Well, I think he’s fun,” Robot chipped in. 

“Robot, you like everyone,” Molly said from where she laid with her head rested on the arm of the couch, half watching, half on her phone. 

“I try to,” Robot agreed. 

“So you don’t count,” Tombs concluded, sealing her latest joint with a lick and a twist. 

“Oh.” 

“No, that’s okay!” Gertrude called as she pushed through the front door, three pizzas and several chicken buckets precariously balanced in hand, “Don’t get up, I’ve got it! It’s not like I just spent a hundred bucks on dinner or anything.” 

“Doing great, ‘Trude,” Randy encouraged, eyes still on screen. Robot moved to help, but Randy fussed and threw the full of his weight back over Robot’s lap with a huff. 

Fortunately, Molly had no such anchor, and in a few scant moments, the girls had brought everything in and set out on either the dining table or the kitchen counter. When Gertrude popped open the first bucket of chicken, Tombs’ sigh was borderline inappropriate and she forced herself to her feet, munchies activated. Ricky and Alice weren’t too far behind, and Molly nabbed the paper plates from the cupboard, peeling pairs off the stack to hand out. 

“You hungry, Robot?” Molly called over.

“Ooh, yeah.” 

“I gotchu, boo,” Randy hopped to his feet, “Whatchu want?” 

“Pizza, please.” 

“It’ll cost ya,” Randy warned backing towards the kitchen.

“I can pay,” Robot assured, Randy’s answer unheard when his phone beeped with a new text. Having a sneaking suspicion of who it was, Robot wasn’t surprised to see the new notification from Pringle Can.

‘ _bank?_ ’

Of course.

Robot typed out a quick, ‘ _no :)_ ’, and hit send. 

Then he blinked, and his phone was gone, replaced by a slice of pepperoni and some fries under his nose. Robot startled, but there was a hand on his back, and he at last registered that Randy was bent over him, blocking the view from the kitchen. 

“Robot,” Randy said lowly, “Baby, you gotta take the plate.” 

“Okay.” 

Robot carefully raised both hands to cup Randy’s one. Acting as a guide, Randy slowly pushed Robot’s hands until the food was safely lowered onto the bot’s lap, then slipped free. 

For a long second, Robot merely stared at the plate, barely noticing when Randy flopped down next to him with a sigh. Then Molly entered his peripheral, and Robot glanced up to watch Randy accept a can of soda with a straw. Molly gave Robot an anxious smile before she returned to the kitchen, where Gertrude had been keeping the others distracted through demands of recompense. 

Randy scratched the back of his neck and blew a breath out the side of his mouth. He leaned close when he asked, “You alright?” 

“Yeah.” 

“You sure?” 

“Hmm,” Robot checked his internal clock, “Think so.” 

“Then let’s get some food in you,” Randy reached over to place Robot’s soda on the end table and snagged a fry on his way back. 

“Randy,” Robot scolded, “That would be easier to do if you didn’t steal it from me.” 

“I’m hungry!” 

“Gertrude brought enough to feed all of Germany – ah!” Robot moved his plate out of reach, not nearly at any speed to make a difference, but it deterred the boyfriend nonetheless, “Randy, go get your own.”

“Why you so mean to me, Robot,” Randy propped his chin on Robot’s shoulder, pouting, “What if I’m starving?” 

Robot looked down his nose at Randy, “Then perish, bitch.” 

Snorting, Randy pecked Robot on the temple before he flung himself graceless back towards the kitchen. Something uncoiled enough in Robot for him to smile, and he grabbed his own fry just as the next set of opening credits started to play. 

Come nightfall, Robot’s living room had become a mess of tangled limbs, discarded dishes, several misplaced roaches, an abandoned game of poker, a fallen tower of Uno, and more than a few head crushed cans of soda. _The Fresh Prince_ continuing over it all. 

Around season four, Alice and Ricky had called it quits and said goodnight. Tombs had claimed the loveseat for herself and been graciously given a blanket. The other two were laid out on the couch, Molly remaining the sole survivor, though just barely, and with Gertrude snoring into her collar. Sat in a recliner, Robot was not far behind the fallen. 

“Hey.” 

Robot snapped upright at the softly spoken word and blinked himself awake to once more find Randy standing over him. 

Seeing he had Robot’s attention, Randy smiled and nudged the bot’s shoulder, “C’mon, sleepyhead. Bedtime.” 

“One more season,” Gertrude mumbled, then tucked her face between Molly and the couch and returned to dreamland, much to Molly’s amusement.

“Alright,” Robot said and allowed Randy to help him to his feet, a steadying grip firm on his elbow. 

“Night, Robot,” Molly whispered as they passed. 

“Night, Molly. And thank you.” 

“Anytime. Oh, Randy,” Molly caught hold of Randy’s shirt, “You know the meeting place for tomorrow? We changed it.” 

“If I don’t, you could just ping me.” 

“True,” Molly waved them on, “Night.” 

Randy rolled his eyes and guided Robot around the corner into the bedroom. He had to kick several shoeboxes out of the way before he could get Robot settled on the side closest an outlet. 

“I had fun,” Robot said while Randy grabbed the charge cord from where it had fallen and helped Robot plug in, “Wish we could do it again.” 

“Me too, Robot,” Randy patted Robot’s leg as he rose and began getting himself ready for bed, starting with the removing of the wig. 

“What was Molly talking about?” 

“You’ll see,” Next went the vest and shirt into a hamper.

“Got a lot of chicken to eat,” Robot thought out loud. 

“New Robot Retail stock?” Randy suggested and slipped from his slacks, “Finally start weeding out the true competition.” 

“Those Cluckin’ Bell cucks.” 

Randy fell onto the bed with a hard snort and laughed into the comforter, Robot chuckling quietly beside him. When he was able to regain some form of composure, Randy flipped onto his back with a sigh and looked up at his smiling partner. Robot returned the gaze, expression as soft and genuine as ever. 

“Fuck you,” Randy said, sitting up to give Robot a kiss on the cheek and turn off the bedside lamp. He then threw a pillow against Robot’s hip and flopped down onto it, bringing the covers snug against his jaw. 

“Night, Robot,” Randy yawned. 

“Night, Randy,” Robot replied. 

Both pleasantly exhausted, Robot waited for Randy’s breath to grow heavy and even against his thigh, then slipped into his sleep cycle.

.♥.

“Lift the other one.”

Robot did as asked, his left foot slowly rising off the kitchen floor. 

“Now hold.” 

And Robot tried, he really did, but by the second second he had started to shake, and by the third he was done.

Knelt in front of Robot, pensive, Randy watched the foot clink back down onto the tile.

“Oh boy.” 

That morning they had both awoken well past their usual risings, Robot to the chime of a charge complete, Randy to the sound of the bedside lamp breaking. An accident caused by a malfunction in the legs when Robot had tried to stand. Together, they had made it out to the kitchen, where Randy had sat Robot down and threw open the curtains. 

“Do the right again,” Randy said, hand on chin, gaze focused. 

Once more, Robot obeyed the request, only this time his foot steadied in the air until Randy waved the okay. 

“You can move,” Randy concluded, “Can you walk?” 

“Dunno,” Robot stiffly rotated the ankle of his left foot, the lack of control strange. At first, both legs had locked, like they sometimes did, but the extra sun had mostly sorted that out, “I can try?” 

“Think we’re gonna have to. We got places to be,” Randy stood upright. 

“Yeah,” Robot said, eyes on lap, “You know, Randy, you could go ahead-” 

“Robot,” Randy cut in, “I’m gonna hafta stop you there, bro. Because while I love you, sometimes you voice some really stupid fucking ideas. 

“We’re partners, that means together, in everything,” Randy moved to check the exposed monitor on the back of Robot’s head and found no change, just the single red light that had been flashing calmly in the corner, “Also, super don’t want my nose rebroken by a certain redhead today, thank you.” 

“Oh,” Robot said. 

“Oh,” Randy repeated. 

“The rendezvous you guys were talking about last night.” 

“Yeah, kinda can’t show without you,” Randy closed Robot’s panel and stepped back, “The whole point of a gift, after all, is to be received.” 

“That is true.” 

“I know!” Randy held his hands out for Robot to take, “Wanna give it a go?” 

“Give what a go?” 

“Walking.” 

“Oh, right. Might as well,” Robot reached and Randy tugged.

The stumble was expected and expertly caught, a steadying hand sliding to Robot’s waist. Once Randy was certain Robot’s leg wouldn’t buckle on them, Randy gave the required room for a few testing steps. The hard limp with which Robot did these was discouraging to say the least. 

“Robot, if we need to-” 

“No no no,” Robot waved Randy off, shaking his left leg and rotating the ankle to try and wake it the fuck up, “I’ve got this.” 

Tentatively, Robot replaced his weight on the defunct foot, allowing it a good four seconds before he relaxed. Then, actively concentrating on the rotation of his joints and the displacement of power, Robot took another couple steps. He was slower. Oh so much slower, but the gait was smooth, and marathons had never been in his ball park to begin with. 

Successful, Robot turned to Randy with a satisfied smile. The returned look was supportive if not heartening.

...

Never before had mortal eyes beheld such a decadent display of speed made cheap. A veritable buffet of iridescent steel, artistic decal, and pleather seating distilled into a compact Japanese package. All enhanced with a healthy layer of chrome. The sight lined up at the center of the old Hive Dive was well worth the whistle upon arrival.

“Damn,” Robot said, and Randy laughed, tucking the mamba into the nearest empty space.

“Where the hell did these come from?” Robot asked about the half dozen rainbow Futos. 

“You’d have to ask Molly, she’s the one who – Molly!” Randy turned the engine off and left Robot to the rest. He refused to bother with the door and hopped out of the convertible before bounding to where Molly stood conversing with Carter, Gertrude, and Tombs x2. From his seat, Robot returned their hello waves.

While he hadn’t been officially told yet, with most the Hive scattered across the lot, Robot was beginning to put together what it was Molly had been organizing. 

Stepping out of the passenger side, Robot locked the car just as Freddy skirted across the hood with a, “Hi Robot!” 

“Hey, Freddy,” Robot returned, watching the barefoot man jog over to the others, then jerked at a hard poke between the shoulders. Robot managed to catch himself on the frame of the windshield and turned to find Zofie in a pout behind him, cat ears and all.

“I’m mad at you.” 

“Me?” Robot asked.

“Yes.” 

“What did I do?” 

“You didn’t invite me to movie night,” Zofie crossed her arms, hard.

Oh! 

“To be fair, I didn’t invite _anyone_ to movie night,” Robot clarified, “They broke into my house of their own volition.” 

That at least got a smile, “Guess you’re lucky they brought snacks then, huh.” 

“They weren’t free,” Robot recalled, “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but Gertrude made bank off us. She was like Postmates for extortionists.” 

“I guess I can forgive you,” Zofie giggled, uncrossing her arms to poke Robot again, this time gently, “Just don’t forget me next time, okay?” 

“If I’m there,” Robot promised, “You’ll be the first I call.” 

“Good,” Zofie clasped her hands behind her back, then sauntered towards where Freddy was trying to break his neck clearing both Bubba and Actor between cars. 

“Robot,” Molly greeted as she approached, Randy trailing after, “You ready to get this thing started?” 

“I don’t even know what this thing is,” Robot admitted. 

“Randy didn’t tell you?” 

“Nope.” 

“You said not to!” Randy defended. 

“Yeah, yesterday, but when you’re on the way -?” 

“That’s alright,” Robot interjected, “I liked the surprise.” 

“Yeah?” Molly asked. 

“Yeah. So what’s going on?” 

“The first annual Hive Dive Drive,” Molly explained, “A race from here, the original, north along the island to the sequel. Teams of two, winner gets bragging rights and a $100 gift card to the fast food chain of their choice.” 

“We can do that?” 

“Well, sort of?” Molly half shrugged, “Not legally at least, had to push the date up, but permits are too restrictive anyhow.”

“That means if the cops show, it’s a free-for-all,” Randy said through a growing grin, a little too eager at the prospect.

“Fun,” Robot agreed. 

“Hope so. Anyway,” Molly placed a hand on Robot’s shoulder, “You up for being my co-pilot in Red One?” 

“Hell yeah.” 

A good twenty minutes of rounding up the kids later, and Molly was helping Robot buckle in while the others slid into their own Futos. In the end, the teams had been fairly easy to sort out, with Randy and Gertrude claiming Purple Two, Ricky and Carter for Green Three, Zofie and Freddy in Cat Four, Bubba and Actor Blue Five, and the Tombs sisters taking Pink Six. 

“All set?” Molly asked Robot, who tugged on the strap across his chest to make sure it was secure. 

“All set,” He smiled back. 

“Great,” Molly rolled down the windows and called out, “Everyone ready?” 

There was an answering revving of engines and various horns, Randy pulling up close to Robot’s window. 

“Hey Robot.” 

“Hey Randy.” 

“You ready to eat shit?” 

“Uh,” Robot glanced at Molly, “I’m not driving, so, no?” 

“That’s what I thought you’d say,” Randy revved the engine again, a threat. 

“You’re gonna let Robt win, right?” Robot heard Gertrude ask from the purple passenger seat. 

“Fuck no!” 

“You’re a bad boyfriend.” 

“Tell me something I don’t know, Gertrude, I dare you- Fuck!” 

The grape Futo jolted forward, love tapped by the green, and Carter and Ricky appeared on Randy’s other side. 

“Randy, aren’t you legal?” 

“I’m on vacation, baby,” The purple revved yet again, impatience undoubtedly settling in, “Besides, they can’t disbar what they can’t catch!” 

“Alright, boys,” Molly interrupted, just as Robot’s phone pinged, “Enough smack talk, let’s get this show on the road. Literally.” 

_’robot these cars dun brake well’_

_’i dun wanna be bbq’d :((‘_

The windows rolled closed and Robot responded to Gertrude with a quick, _‘it’s fine :)’_ , right as Molly’s phone joined the ping club. 

“Aw,” Molly said, quickly checking the text before sliding the phone into the cup holder and aligning the car with the hideout’s entrance, “Randy’s sweet.” 

“Why?” Robot asked, “What’d he say?” 

“Told me to be careful because, apparently, I’m hauling precious cargo.” 

“Aw,” Robot smiled, “Randy does love his Burgershot.” 

That got a laugh from Molly, “He really does, doesn’t he.” 

One after the other, they entered the tunnel, the rumble of their engines reverberating off the rounded walls and through Robot’s chassis. For a moment the world dimmed, and then Molly led them out onto the highway and the sun hit the chromed hood directly, creating a near blinding shine of candy red. Across the lanes on either side, the remaining five Futos pulled into formation, keeping speed with Red One. 

“Ready, Robot?” Molly asked, glancing to their awaiting friends. 

“Ready.” 

So Molly hit the gas proper. 

There had been enough in the budget for upgrades it seemed as the small sports car roared forward, Robot momentarily pushed into his seat by the initial change in inertia. Beside them, the others followed suit, a familiar howl rolling through the burst of noise. 

The race was on. 

Randy pulled into an early lead, recklessly gliding between two locals and forcing Ricky to retreat in order to avoid a collision. Freddy went to take advantage of the opening, but Tombs was there a heartbeat quicker, tailed closely by Actor. 

Molly had wisely skirted to the side of Randy’s projected course and completely bypassed the would-be pileup. She gave their friends a cheeky honk as she sped past, then dipped behind a large truck and came up on Randy’s flank, steadily closing the gap between them. 

‘ _On your right :)_ ’ Robot messaged. He saw Gertrude check her phone, then glance their way just as they entered the Braddock Tunnel. When their eyes met, Robot waved and Gertrude stuck her tongue out, then said something that had Randy doing a double take. 

Determination settled over Randy’s sloped features, and Robot saw the same in Molly, who’s hand went to the gear shift right before they exited back into open air- 

And were promptly met with the blare of a police siren. 

“Fuck,” Molly cursed, Randy veering into opposing traffic the moment the two cruisers made themselves known from the median, “Well, Randy was hoping for this.”

“Where the hell did they come from?” Robot exclaimed, watching Randy grind the divider to avoid the spike strips. 

“I don’t know,” Molly swerved around her own set of tire poppers, though in the rear view mirror the blue Futo wasn’t so lucky, “A patrol maybe? Robot, how durable are you right now?” 

“Uh, a little less than usual, but not too bad, why?” 

“It’s about to get really rocky-” Molly demonstrated Gertrude’s warning about the brakes, sending them into a long terrifying drift that angled the car towards a slope onto Chiliad. Their pursuing officer missed t-boning them by a hair, but Molly was already gunning it.

Holding tight to the strap across his chest, Robot caught sight of Randy and Gertrude disappearing onto the railroad tracks before they themselves hit dirt – then air – then dirt again, and were swallowed by the trees.

“Hold on Robot!” 

“I am!” About as best as he could given that the sports car was extremely unhappy with the sudden bout of mountain climbing, “I should’ve gone with Carter-” 

“Aw, don’t say that,” Molly said even as she took them spinning off the hiking trail.

… 

Somehow, someway, Molly saw them safely from the slope of Mt. Chiliad and into the fields of Grapeseed, where a few conveniently placed bushes covered their escape. From there, they took a breather, Robot sending out a wave of ‘ _U good?_ ’ texts, before they completed the final stretch and pulled expectantly into the Hive Dive 2.

“Huh,” Molly observed, turning off the engine and taking in the empty ring of trailers. 

“Huh,” Robot echoed. 

“You hear back from anyone?” 

“Uh,” Robot checked his phone, “No, not yet.” 

“Huh.” 

“Yeah,” Robot hummed. Not good… 

“You know what this means, Robot,” Molly automatically unbuckled Robot, then exited the vehicle. 

“They’re all in jail?” Robot guessed, and carefully stepped out after. 

“Maybe, but-” Molly climbed atop the hood of the car to the reach the roof, where she stood victorious, “It also means we won!” 

“Oh,” Robot brightened, “Hell yeah!” 

“Hell yeah,” Molly agreed, “C’mon, Robot. It’s only our alpha right to look down on our lessors as they slink in.” 

Robot chuckled, then considered the height of the bumper, “Uh, I don’t think I can.” 

“Sure you can,” Molly slid down to the hood and offered her hand, “Here, I’ll help.” 

“I dunno,” Robot said, “I hear I’m quite heavy.” 

“I’ll be careful.” 

“O-kay,” Robot took Molly’s hand. Soon as his fingers were curled around her wrist, Molly pulled – and made a sound of instant regret. 

“Oh my god,” she wheezed and let go. 

“I did warn you,” Robot winced, “… You alright?” 

“No no no, it’s good, see,” Molly widened her stance to brace herself better, and this time offered both arms, “Just wasn’t ready. C’mon, one more go.” 

“Molly.” 

“It’ll be fine, Robot, promise,” Molly urged Robot to take her hands, but he hesitated.

“You sure?” 

“Of course!” 

“If you insist,” Robot latched onto Molly’s forearm, and stood on his stronger leg, his left still a little shaky, “But don’t hurt yourself. Feel free to drop me if it’s too much.” 

“That’s why we lift with our legs, not our back, Robot,” Molly secured her grip, “You should know that.” 

“I’m not really affected by that piece of information.” 

With a hefty tug, Molly gave Robot the boost he needed to get up onto the hood, and held him until she was certain Robot was steady on his feet. 

“You were right,” Molly admitted, stepping back onto the roof, “You are heavy.” 

“I was born thicc, baby.” 

That startled a laugh out of Molly, and Robot smiled wide at his friend, happy to hear her do so. Then the sound of another car on dirt reached their ears, and both watched as a beat-up but functional green Futo slunk into the hideout.

“Well well well,” Molly postured, “Look what the cat dragged in.”

“Oh, goddammit,” Carter sighed, turning off the engine, “I should’ve known we’d find you here, Molly.” 

“Told you to take the left,” Ricky said, getting out of the car, appearing a little worse for wear.

Everyone started to file in after that. Slowly, and one by one, the rainbow rally crews limped their way to the Hive Dive. Most were okay, barring some scrapes and dents to the cars, though Bubba and Actor seemed to be missing all but the essentials of their vehicle. A certain purple Futo remained absent, however.

In need of a sit down, Robot checked his phone for the umpteenth time to no avail. 

“Have you heard from Randy or Gertrude?” Robot asked Molly, who had elected to chill with Robot while the others started in on a campfire. 

Molly hummed, pulling out her own phone, “No, not yet.” 

“You don’t think they’re arrested, do you?” 

“I don’t know,” Molly said honestly, “Give it another ten and then we’ll swing by PD, okay?” 

“Okay,” Robot put his phone down next to him and pulled his knees to his chin. He could feel Molly’s heavy gaze roving over him before she spoke. 

“You feeling alright, Robot?” 

“Yeah,” He was tired. They had thought ahead enough to bring drinks and snacks, but plain fuel could only take him so far. The soft worry tugging at his core wasn’t helping either. 

“Okay,” Molly didn’t push.

The group startled alert when an unfamiliar vehicle made its way into their circle, more than one hand going to hips and Molly taking a protective step in front of Robot. Then a collective wave of relief washed through the Hive members when their missing pair finally stepped out – very damp, and very wrung out. 

“Oh my god,” Molly laughed, Robot sitting with a smile behind her, “What happened?” 

“Never,” Randy started as he shook out his designer coat to fight the inevitable wrinkling, “And I mean _never_ hide in a car wash and refuse to pay – I am telling you.” 

“Randy drove us into a river.” 

“Gertrude!” 

“Yeah, he do that.” 

“Robot!” Randy scoffed, looking between the two in disbelief, “The complete lack of loyalty.” 

“Funny thing,” Gertrude said, and picked a twig from her wind dried hair, “This is the second time I’ve been completely soaked in the last three days.” 

“I told you to get out of the rain,” Robot chastised, “And you did willingly get into a car with Randy. That’s on you.” 

“True.” 

“Did I do something!?” 

“You know they’re not wrong, Randy,” Tombs chimed in. 

“So who won?” Gertrude asked, “Cuz it clearly wasn’t us.” 

“Who do you think,” Ricky said, and Molly hopped back onto the car with Robot, pulling him to his feet. 

She interlaced their fingers and lifted Robot’s hand in victory, “Red One by a mile!” 

“Woawoa woa!” 

“Drinks on the losers,” Molly declared as the rest of the Hive cheered their congratulations with varying degrees of celebration and sarcasm. Then Bubba had the bright idea to finish drying Randy’s coat with the fire, and Robot lost track of who was doing what, the situation devolving by the second. 

Fortunately, Molly seemed content to spectate the entertainment rather than join it, Robot’s hand still loosely held in hers. 

“Have I ever thanked you, Robot?” Molly asked, voice private but not quite a whisper. 

“Thank me for what?” Robot watched the continuously doomed attempts by Randy to save the signature possession. 

“This,” Molly swung their joined hands to indicate the chaos before them, “I don’t know if you remember, but you were sort of my in to the Hive. If you hadn’t introduced me at that gas station, I don’t know where I’d be.” 

“Kicking ass, as always, and looking cute,” Robot said, earning himself a laugh. 

“Probably,” Molly conceded, “But now I get to kick ass and look cute with family.” 

“They would’ve had you eventually,” Robot reasoned. 

“Still,” Molly insisted. 

“Still.” 

For some reason Bubba suddenly had Randy up on his shoulders and Zofie was hoisting Freddy onto hers, both boys squaring up amid a circle of chanting onlookers. 

“Can you thank me by suggesting karaoke or something so my boyfriend doesn’t break an arm?”

Letting go of Robot with a snort, Molly hopped off the car and headed for their friends, calling over her shoulder, “No promises!” 

“Thank you, Molly," Robot returned.

...

Drunk or dying, either made a good excuse for the tangled mess of limbs that eventually stumbled back into Robot’s house that night. Not for the first time, Robot was thankful for the quaint, compact design, neither him nor Randy having the wherewithal to make it past the couch. They got about three steps, then dragged each other down onto the cushions. Robot landed with his legs hooked over the back, while Randy slid like a worm to rest face down on the floor. 

A quiet moment passed, the various appliances giving a tick or a buzz. Then Randy’s drunk giggles filtered into the silence, closely followed by Robot’s own sober chuckle. 

“You okay there, Randy?” Robot asked as he eased himself to sit against the arm rest, legs laid out in front of him. 

“Yes,” Randy replied very carefully, trying to out enunciate any possible slur. 

“Have you had enough water?” 

Randy hummed, “Probably.” 

“Alright,” Robot said, “So long as you’re sure.” 

Randy inhaled sharply then popped up onto his forearms, eyes narrowed in search, mouth pursed with determination. He said something that might as well have been a foreign language for all that Robot understood it. 

“What was that?” 

“Gotta, plug you in, Robot,” Randy growled and half launched himself, half fell across the room to the outlet. Fully prepared to lose their second lamp that day, Robot busied himself with twiddling his thumbs, letting Randy do what Randy needed to do. 

At least until Randy nearly smashed through the coffee table face first.

“Ooh,” Robot winced at the close call, “Please, be careful.” 

“Careful my muddle name, you know dis,” Randy leveraged himself to his knees and scooted behind where Robot sat, charger in hand.

“Randy, the longer I’m with you, the more I know that’s not true.” 

“Meh meh memeh mehme,” Randy mocked, much to Robot’s amusement, and then reached for the back of Robot’s head. 

Admittedly, Randy’s fingers were a bit fumbling on the approach, but he got the prongs where they needed to go, and a little guidance from Robot saw the bot plugged in for the night. Mission accomplished, Randy tried to stand and instead slumped to his knees, this time with the optimal position of having his head in Robot’s lap. 

Quite comfortable, Randy blew a breath out between his lips and relaxed. 

“Randy?” 

“I wub u Wobot,” Randy slurred, “So mubch.” 

“I know, Randy,” Robot gently laid a hand on Randy’s head, slipping under the blond bangs to rub a thumb against Randy’s temple, and received a content hum. 

“Imma sweep now,” Randy whispered, “Dun die, k?” 

“I’ll try,” Robot promised, and watched Randy relax completely under the tender ministration, breathing growing heavy and even. 

Certain Randy was fast asleep, Robot pulled up the error report he’d received when he had been plugged in. The audio notification had thankfully been internal only. 

“I’ll try,” Robot promised again, eyeing the stalled charge level in the corner of his mind. 

Hmm.

.♥.


	6. Something Good

.♥.

“I want a party.”

Whatever previous conversation had been going at their diner booth was immediately dropped and all eyes turned to Robot.

“What?” Molly asked, one leg up on the bench she shared with Gertrude, while Randy sat in Robot’s corner fixing his partner’s coffee. 

“I want a party,” Robot repeated, “Tomorrow.” 

“Why tomorrow?” Gertrude’s face scrunched with confusion, then dropped with realization, “Oh.” 

“Here you go, sugars,” A soft southern drawl momentarily interrupted, bringing with them the laden plates of an American brunch. Once they had all been properly served, the small group of friends were left to it. 

“Why a party, Robot?” Randy asked, silently accepting the task of cutting Robot’s pancakes for him. The bot’s fingers had decided earlier that morning that they weren’t going to move without manual assistance, an issue that was proving itself persistent. 

“Funerals are too sad,” Robot explained, “And I want to see everyone smile again before I go.” 

Gertrude snapped her utensils down onto either side of her plate, suddenly at a loss for an appetite. 

“Well, I think that’s a great idea, Robot,” Molly placed a comforting hand on Gertrude’s back, “What kind of party were you thinking?” 

“I dunno,” Robot admitted, “Something with music, and dancing, and hats. Oh, and cake!” 

“Cake sounds good,” Randy took Robot’s hand and curled metal fingers around the fork so he could eat, “I heard Hannah’s gotten into baking recently, maybe she could give it a go?” 

“Perfect,” Robot agreed, “And there should be streamers, and balloons, and beer if anyone wants it – Oh, I’ll just have Robot Retail cater. I hear they’re pretty good.” 

“I’d say the best,” Molly chipped in. 

“Thank you.” 

“You know, this is starting to sound a lot like a birthday party, Robot,” Randy popped three connected straws into Robot’s coffee, “That’s the complete opposite of a funeral.” 

“Exactly.” 

“I don’t know about you guys,” Molly said, hand still rested on a silent Gertrude, “But it sounds like we have a party to plan.”

…

Helium. Check.

Streamers. Check. 

Balloons – balloons – balloons, ah! Chrome, perfect. 

Candles? 

“Hey, Robot?” Gertrude called, eyes on the list she’d been given. 

After brunch they had held a quick delegation to figure out how to plan and host a fake birthday party within the next twenty-four hours, give or take whatever. While Randy and Molly had volunteered for the heavy lifters work, Gertrude had been relegated to party supplier and granted custody of Robot for the day. 

And boy howdy had she been in for a surprise. 

Because certain someones had neglected to inform her that Robot’s walking speed had been greatly reduced. Stuck in a car or drunk on 80’s pop for most of the day before, Gertrude hadn’t really noticed on her own. Which meant a minor freak out when they had first arrived and Robot had failed to follow her to the mall entrance.

Fortunately, neither of them were above grabbing the carts with the big children’s seat. An odd sight for the local shoppers for sure, but their lives were made about 100 times easier – even if Robot insisted on standing every time they stopped.

“Yeah?” Robot asked, distracted by a bag of shiny unicorn party favors. 

Everything in their cart so far had some sort of metallic sheen to it, even the napkins had glossy printed letters. With Robot footing the bill, Gertrude had readily snatched any and every little trinket that remotely caught his eye. She would probably be grabbing those tiny horned horses next.

“How old are you?” 

“Hmm,” Robot hummed, “Depends.” 

“On what?” 

“Who you ask,” Robot said and returned to the cart, interest catching on the candles being considered. Shorter distances he seemed okay with, but more than a couple aisles and Gertrude caught that he started to limp. 

“Well,” Gertrude drawled, “I’m asking you. So?” 

“At least 20.” 

“At least?” 

“Yeah, Y2K hit me pretty hard,” Robot pointed to a set of smooth, silver candles, “I don’t remember anything before New Year’s 2000, but there are some suspiciously retro wires running through me.” 

“That’s… weird,” Gertrude knew people could have old souls, though that generally wasn’t literal, “I guess we have no choice but to get _at least_ twenty candles then.” 

“Sounds right.” 

“Maybe, thirty.” 

“Forty?” Robot suggested, “Just in case.” 

“Hmm, fifty?” 

“Better safe than sorry.” 

“So, a hundred,” Gertrude concluded.

“Yeah, that should do.” 

Checkout proved to be less awkward than Gertrude had anticipated. Apparently, their cashier was a retail veteran. They barely batted an eye at the full sized android in the cart and casually scanned through the copious amounts of chrome items, allowing a hum of curiosity at the bag of little magical creatures. 

Receipt received, Gertrude and Robot wished their cashier a pleasant day and ventured onward further into the mall. They had a few more minor items to get elsewhere, but those were easily found and the hours that did pass were mostly spent window shopping or cart surfing through the crowds. At one point Gertrude had gasped at a storefront, and then had quickly wheeled Robot away before he could ask.

Eventually, the allure of the food court proved too enticing to resist, and Gertrude parked Robot on a bench by a bush. She then left him to people watch for a few minutes, and returned with a platter of fried seafood. 

“Figured you might be sick of chicken and burgers, I know I am,” Gertrude explained, taking a seat beside Robot and tucking something down behind her shin. 

“Oh, I’ll eat anything,” Robot said, “But thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” Gertrude unwrapped a pair of steaming battered char, catching Robot stiffly flexing his hand in her peripheral before he moved to do the same. She wondered if she should help, if Robot would even want that. He seemed to accept Randy’s aid readily enough, but – oop! 

Gertrude caught the bottom of the cup just as it dropped from Robot’s grip. Her own food set aside, Gertrude slipped the drink back into Robot’s palm and gently curled his fingers until she was certain the near accident wouldn’t repeat itself. 

“Sick save,” Robot complimented, “Thank you.” 

Finding her voice heavy in her throat, Gertrude merely hummed an affirmative. She felt her face growing hot and kept stinging eyes on the hands clasped tightly in her lap. But of course Robot had to notice. 

“Gertrude?” 

“-okay,” She managed, quietly. 

“You sure?” 

Gertrude shook her head. 

Robot frowned in concern, “What’s wrong?”

“ _Everything_.” 

“Aw,” Robot set the drink aside and reached for her, “It’s fine-” 

“Stop saying that!” Gertrude snatched her hand away as she shot to her feet, “It’s not – It’s not fine! _You_ are not fine! Stop acting like -” 

Gertrude made a frustrated noise and pulled at the roots of her hair. Pacing in a tight circle, she ignored the attentions her shout had attracted.

“Robot,” Gertrude came to a stop facing her friend, “Do you have any idea what all of of this even _means!?_ ” 

“Yeah,” Robot said, but it was small, and it was broken, and it was scared, and that one word drained the fight from her. 

Robot glanced away as Gertrude sank back down next to him. Robot’s gaze fixed onto his lap, and Gertrude’s roamed the faces passing on the upper floors, each suddenly unable to look at the other.

“I do know,” Robot continued softly, “I’m sorry if I don’t seem to be taking this seriously. I am.” 

Gertrude shook her head, embarrassed over her outburst, “That’s okay.” 

“But you’re not,” Robot carefully reached for Gertrude’s hand again, and this time his touch was accepted, “And I want you to be. You’re my friend.” 

“And you’re mine,” Gertrude curled their fingers together, “You’ve always been. You don’t deserve this.” 

“I don’t think anyone does.” 

“Robot-” 

“Hey.” 

Gertrude looked up, then scrunched her nose against the tickle of the fringed party horn blown in her face. On Robot’s inhale the glossy paper twisted into itself, and at its pained little sound, a giggle bubbled out of Gertrude. Chuckling, Robot lowered the noisemaker and waited for Gertrude to take a proper breath.

“Better?” He asked, and Gertrude sighed.

“A little bit,” She admitted, pinching two fingers together.

“I’ll take it,” Robot said. 

Gertrude huffed through her nose, then grabbed Robot into a hug. She held him as close as she could, her head resting on his shoulder.

“I love you,” Gertrude whispered. 

“Love you too,” Robot gently returned Gertrude’s embrace.

“I’m gonna miss you,” Gertrude pressed her face into the crook of Robot’s neck, tightening her hold. 

“Eh,” Robot shrugged, “You’ll get over it.” 

“Maybe,” Gertrude laughed and pulled away to wipe her eyes clear, before she gave a small gasp, “Oh! I almost forgot.” 

Far more energetic than a moment ago, Gertrude reached under the bench and produced what she had hidden upon her return. Robot’s curiosity peaked at the sight of the white and gold paper bag, and Gertrude tossed the decorative tissue into the nearby bush. 

“I know we said no gifts, but honestly? Fuck that,” Gertrude suddenly snapped the bag close and narrowed her gaze, “Hey, no peeking. Close your eyes.” 

“Oh, right,” Robot squared his shoulders and did as he’d been told, “I won’t look, I promise.” 

“Good-” Gertrude snatched Robot’s glasses off his nose. 

“Hey!” 

But the next second they were being replaced, and Gertrude gave the go ahead. 

“Ooh,” Robot said upon opening his eyes and finding himself adorned with a silver pair of heart shaped sunglasses, “Snazzy.” 

Gertrude giggled, claiming the shoddy originals for herself, and graced Robot with her first genuine smile of the day.

“Happy early Not-Birthday, Robot. Thank you, for being my friend.”

“Ditto.”

.♥. 

Sun streamed gently through the home’s windows, freckling the curves of Robot’s bowler where it sat center place on the table. Robot himself was seated in the living room, eyes closed and face turned into the warming light. Since the day had begun, Robot had been following the golden rays on their slow trek from east to west until the fields turned amber.

Last night’s plug in had been a mostly token action allowed for Randy’s sake. Over those ten hours, the drain on Robot’s battery had stalled several times for shorter and shorter periods. Rather than leveling out, as before, Robot’s charge had fallen into a painfully slow decline that no amount of solar input, nor coffee and waffles were changing – no matter how lovingly made they'd been. 

By midday, it had become clear to Robot that any attempt to alter his status quo was simply another in a series of stop gaps, his vigor dropping by the hour. Afraid of exerting energy he didn’t have, Robot had elected out of joining the others in decorating Robot Retail. He had instead chosen to sit silently in the sun in hopes of being able to attend the party he had asked for. 

Fortunately, Robot's wait was not a lonely one. 

A frustrated, borderline petulant sigh echoed out of the bedroom, drawing Robot’s drifting attention into the present. 

Keeping his eyes closed, Robot called out, “You alright there, Randy?” 

“No,” Was the peevish response followed by a shorter, more heated sigh, “We have twenty minutes before we’re supposed to be at Robot Retail, and I have nothing to wear!” 

“I find that hard to believe. Why are you looking through _my_ wardrobe, anyway? Why don’t you run to your house,” Robot peeled his eyes open and looked over just as Randy slouched shirtless against the bedroom entrance. 

“That’s so _far_ , Robot,” Randy pouted, “You wouldn’t want me to have to drive all that way, would you?” 

“This is why you buy so many clothes, Randy,” Robot said, “You’ve basically turned this place into a gigantic closet.” 

“That, isn’t such a bad idea actually,” Randy disappeared once more. Robot rolled his eyes, a small smile tugging at his mouth. 

In the silence that followed, Robot drifted again until there came a clatter of hangers and the sound of discovery. Snapping to attention, Robot blinked away the oncoming fog of rest and watched as Randy strutted into the living room, a very familiar grape and teal jacket across his shoulders. 

“Can’t believe you fucking kept this,” Randy said, giving a stylistic twirl for appraisal. 

“Sure did,” Robot whistled in admiration of the vision before him, “Still fits, too.” 

“What you think, baby,” Randy spun again and lifted the hem off the rear, giving Robot a cheeky wink over the shoulder, “Like what you see?” 

Robot chuckled, “Always.” 

“Badass,” Another wink then Randy moved to readjust his collar in the closest reflective surface, “So, what’s birthday bot gonna wear?” 

“Hmm,” Robot hummed, gaze still on Randy, “I was thinking my gray suit should do.” 

“Very nice, very nice.” 

“And my gray bowler.” 

“Ooh,” Randy ran fingers through his wig, styling the bangs, “That’s my favorite!” 

“Also, my gray glasses.” 

“Gotta stay cute.” 

“Oh!” Robot exclaimed, “And the orange bow tie.” 

“Uh huh – Wait, what?” Randy turned away from the mirror towards Robot, who lifted his chin to show off the old thing. 

“That the original?” Randy asked as he crossed the space between them. 

“Yup,” Robot confirmed. 

“I haven’t seen that since season 2,” Randy bent forward to get a better look, and sure enough, the vaguely golden was now a bright orange, “Robot, where the hell did you get this?” 

“Stole it,” Robot said, matter of fact, “Before Tobor got reclaimed. Been waiting for a special occasion to bring it out.” 

“Huh,” Randy straightened, “Guess tonight’s the best you’re gonna get.” 

“Exactly.” 

“Speaker still work?” 

“Oh yeah,” Robot’s voice echoed without the aid of his mouth. 

“Okay, bit creepy, please don’t do that again, but good to know,” Randy went to sit down and pulled a pair of loafers from under the couch. 

“Not going full classic?” Robot asked. 

“Nah, I might run into some potential clients,” Randy slipped on one of the shoes, then laughed as something came to him, “Do you have any idea how many people said they were gonna show tonight?” 

“No,” Robot replied, “Though Molly seemed very happy with whatever you guys managed yesterday.” 

“Yeah,” Randy drawled, hopping to his properly attired feet, “Let’s just say any effort on our part was minimal, and this city was in some serious need of a night out.” 

An understatement, Robot came to understand, seeing as the entirety of Main Street had been detoured, and the dirt road next to Robot Retail had been cordoned off for parking. This allowed the several dozen guests to mingle safely about the parking lot, and the officers present even had the mind to tape off the propane tanks and throw a sheet over the wall sign.

The store itself was the very picture of celebration, sporting birthday banners over the windows and twisted streamers between anything with height. Towers of chrome and black balloons were tethered at key points, an archway made over the entrance. Buffet tables were lined and loaded on the lot’s outskirt, leaving room for a dance floor. Which was needed, for Billy West had been granted a DJ booth atop a flatbed, lasers and smoke enhancing the Bayou beats. 

Fashionably late, at Randy’s insistence, Robot was duly impressed upon arrival. 

“Wow.” 

“You wanted a party, Robot, we got you a fucking party,” Randy parked the Mamba to the west of the pumps, VIP. 

“Yeah, but this is crazy,” Robot said, “Especially for last minute.”

“No expense spared, baby,” Randy countered. 

“Is that because I paid for it?” 

“No! No no no no-” 

“Randy.” 

“Yes. But also, people seem to really care about you,” Randy said sincerely, “I wasn’t exaggerating when I said any effort on our part was minimal.” 

“Rowbit!” 

“Hi, Mila,” Robot called in greeting as the pastel mechanic jogged out from between the pumps. Her usual set of reindeer antlers had been replaced with a festive light up headband. 

“I didn’t know it was your birthday,” Mila crouched down next to Robot’s window and rested her chin on her knuckles, “You should’ve told me!” 

“Well…” 

“That would’ve ruined the surprise,” Randy said, hitting the release on Robot’s buckle and getting out from behind the wheel. 

“You’d be amazed the secrets I can keep,” Mila gave Robot a playful wink that had the bot smiling, “But what took you guys so long? Everyone’s been waiting.” 

“Randy had some wardrobe trouble,” Robot explained, “You know how he is.” 

“Oh no, I can imagine,” Mila hopped up out of the way at Randy’s approach, allowing the boyfriend to open Robot’s door and offer an arm of support. 

Leveraging Robot to his feet, Randy wisely held a moment for Robot to recenter his balance. On his other side, Mila moved to wrap her arm in Robot’s, and Randy reluctantly released him to her at Robot’s go ahead nod. 

“Ready for an entrance?” Mila asked. 

“Hell yeah,” Robot answered. 

“Come on, come on!” 

Mila tugged him towards the mingling crowd, and Robot stumbled on the first step. Then Randy’s hand was on the small of his back, giving him the push he needed to keep pace. 

Soon as they were safely past the pumps, Mila began to sing out, “For he’s a jolly good robot,” attracting everyone’s attention and halting the music. 

Cheers went up at the sight of the guest of honor, and friendly voice after friendly voice joined in as Robot was escorted across the parking lot to an awaiting table. Behind said table stood Hannah, knife in hand, guarding the blue and silver tiered cake that had a crown of at least twenty metallic candles. 

“-Which nobody can deny!” Robot’s friends finished with applause. 

“Good evening, Mr. Robot,” Hannah greeted, “And happy birthday.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Make a wish,” Mila encouraged.

“Alrighty,” Robot closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He thought hard on what he wanted, not for himself, but for those around him. 

When Robot opened his eyes, however, Gertrude and Molly were suddenly over his shoulders, blowing out the candles with much more ease than he would’ve managed. His surprise earned a good laugh from everyone, and a chuckle from Gertrude, who kissed Robot on the cheek while Molly placed a party hat atop his bowler.

“Happy late birthday, Robot,” Molly wished. 

Robot frowned at her soft almost wistful tone, but then Gertrude had him turned around towards a crowd of expectant faces. Most he considered friends, a few acquaintances, and a very important handful family. All looked to him with the same gracious smile he had shown them at one point or another. And Robot smiled back. 

At least until Tombs had the gall to call, “Speech!” 

Something Robot could have very much done without, especially when everyone else joined in.

“Uhhhh,” Robot started when the chanting had died down, “Thank you? For shopping at Robot Retail?” 

“Boo, what else!” Zofie demanded from the same vicinity as Tombs, suspicious giggling following suit. 

Robot saw only one way out, “Ladies and gentlemen, this is Mambo No. 5.” 

As if on cue, the sweet Latin beats of Lou Bega blasted over the parking lot from Billy’s speakers. With barely audible lyrics covered by their talented DJ, the crowd of party goers seemed to become simultaneously possessed by the spirits of boogie. Even Hannah, the most composed person Robot knew, began to bop, and Gertrude reached past Robot to drag Randy into the fray. 

Closing the space between them with a shoulder bump, Molly asked, “Think you got one more dance in ya, Robot?” 

“Oh, I have a few moves left,” Robot warned, and Molly laughed. 

“Well, let’s see them, then, Elvis,” Molly gently took Robot’s hand and led him into the light shining through the store’s windows.

...

While Robot had taken to the sidelines after the mambo, he found he was never quite by himself. Either a certain three were swinging by for a check-in with food and drink, or he was being gifted a card and well wishes. The first and foremost of those had come from Tombs, who had saw fit to apologize for putting Robot on the spot. However, all had been forgiven with the receiving of a singing paper fish.

Otherwise, Robot was quite content to watch the various cliques form and disperse, usually in laughter.

At the start of sundown, Anya had arrived to announce the bar officially open. Which was the point that the noisemakers had been unleashed and the inhibitions had been stashed for another occasion. It was also the moment those less inebriated had started their subtle retreats away from any and all explosives. 

More than a few drunks made their way atop Robot Retail, and a few more had decided to flank Billy with backup dancers. Among these would-be dream girls were the Stones, who, upon anonymous prompting, had wrapped half the party into an ad lib rap battle. 

Unfortunately (thankfully), by that point Robot had started feeling the loss of solar input quite keenly. So, loathe to interrupt the couple's smack talking, Robot had quietly slipped into the growing dark. From there he had slowly made his way behind the store to where the music was more muted. 

Careful with every step he took, Robot walked until he stood in the tall grass with an unobstructed view of the synthwave sky turning black. 

Alone at last, Robot allowed his shoulders to slump with the lethargy that plagued him. He just needed a quick moment to rest, he was sure of it. Then he would return to the festivities, play the host, maybe eat some food and nod along to another song. Make the most of the rest of the night. 

Robot hadn't realized he had closed his eyes until the chime of a new text forced them open. Robot had hoped his momentary departure had gone unnoticed, but it would very much be like him to accidentally panic someone. 

Instead of a frantic demand for his whereabouts, however, Robot found a simple, ‘ _bank?_ ’ from Pringle Can. With a small smile, he went to return the usual ‘ _no :)_ ’, though he tacked on a, ‘ _love you_ ', before he hit send.

Robot put his phone away just as a nearby rustle spooked him. He relaxed when he saw it was only a dressed down Jerry approaching with two plates of cake. Robot had thought he’d seen the Breaker on the edge of the crowd a couple times, but the turtleneck had had Robot believing he'd finally suffered damage to his ocular processors. 

“Hey, Jerry,” Robot greeted, genuinely happy to see the man. 

“Hey, Robot,” Jerry entered the grass and offered Robot a plate. 

“Oh,” Robot went to take said plate and couldn’t help but notice that Jerry kept a hold of the edge until he was sure Robot’s grip was 100%. 

“Thank you,” Robot said when the cake was finally handed over. Jerry grunted an affirmative, then took his own utensil to stab the hefty slice he’d saved for himself. 

Unsure if he could follow suit, Robot instead asked, “So, how you been, Jerry?” 

“Oh, you know,” Jerry shrugged, “I’m okay, I guess.” 

“You enjoying the party, at least?” 

“Absolutely.” 

“How about the cake?” Robot nodded at Jerry’s slice, “It’s funfetti! My friend Hannah made it.” 

“Did a pretty good job. From what I’ve heard,” Jerry corrected, “Haven’t personally had any myself yet.” 

Jerry continued to stab the cake, folding it into the icing and sort of mixing the two together. It was then that Robot noticed Jerry actually had a spoon, not a fork. 

Ah. 

“Is that because you can’t, Jerry,” Robot ventured. 

“Oh, I can, Robot,” Jerry answered, “I just have to want to.” 

“Do you?” 

A pause, then, “Yes.” 

Pressing the spoon’s head onto the plate to bend it a little, Jerry scooped perhaps a bit more than he meant to, and shoved the utensil up under his mask. 

“You know,” Jerry said through his mouthful, crumbs and sprinkles falling onto his sweater, “This ain’t half bad.” 

“Yeah!” Robot agreed. 

“Thanks, Robot.” 

“Of course.”

While Jerry went for seconds, Robot stared down at his own slice and silently debated with himself on whether the risk was worth the reward. He was saved from having to think too long by Jerry’s quiet interruption. 

“Hey, Robot?” 

“Yeah?” Robot looked up, meeting Jerry’s eyes through the mask, though Jerry glanced away just as quick. 

“Sorry we never celebrated your birthday before,” Jerry said, “The Bitches, I mean.” 

“Oh no no no, that’s alright,” Robot assured, “I understand. And between you and me, it’s not even really my birthday.” 

“I know.” 

“You do?” 

“Yeah. I mean, no, I don’t. Not if you don’t want me to. But I could. If you wanted, you know, _know_ ,” Jerry coughed and brought a hand to the mouth of his mask, “Sorry. Crumbs.” 

“You want a beer?” Robot offered, leaning towards the store, but Jerry waved him off. 

“It’s fine.” 

“Oh,” Robot eased, “Right.” 

For a moment, the two stood in a comfortable silence, listening to the world make its rotation, and watching the stars begin to spot the heavens. A strange, pleasant satisfaction came over Robot in the moment. You never needed too many words with Jerry, and the relative quiet seemed to be what Robot had needed. 

“I’m glad we’re friends, Jerry,” Robot said.

“Y’know,” Jerry sighed, giving up on his cake, “Me too, Robot.” 

And Robot could hear the smile in his voice, which was enough. 

Shame Robot Retail had a bad habit of exploding, and chose that very second to do so.

“Oh goddammit,” Robot cursed, the flames dying above the roof and the sound of balloons popping almost like gunfire. 

Robot didn’t have room for a sigh before Jerry was taking the cake plates and tossing them into the dark. Then Jerry offered Robot an arm to hold onto. 

“Thank you,” Robot said, accepting the help, “I just hope everyone’s okay.” 

“If they aren’t, more cake for us,” Jerry reasoned. 

“True.” 

The scene out front was far more family friendly than Robot could’ve asked for. Almost everyone had been laid flat by the apparent ignition of the pumps, the streamers still burning down, but every body was moaning or groaning in some fashion. Those spared the blast were either moving to help or, as in Randy’s case, trying to stay on their feet laughing. 

“The hell happened?” Robot asked, letting go of Jerry’s arm. 

“Robot!” Randy exclaimed, barely able to walk through the sharp inhales, “There you are!” 

“Hi,” Robot greeted, getting a quick kiss from Randy, “What happened? Is everyone alright?” 

“No,” Robot heard Gertrude groan somewhere in the heap, “Ow.” 

“Oh, for sure for sure,” Randy said, getting a hold of himself, barely. 

“Are _you_ alright?” Robot clarified, the shadows could hide a lot. 

“I’m fine,” Randy held his arms to the side, allowing a full length view, “I wasn’t the one dumb enough to put a DJ booth on a moving vehicle.” 

“Fuck you,” Molly rasped, and Robot startled to see her boot poking out from under the cake table, Hannah crouched at her side. 

Thankfully, EMS had been on standby for the night and were right around the corner. In an instant, paramedics were swarming, aided by the officers that had been relegated to detour duty. 

Robot watched from the sidelines with the other able bodies, until a sharp hiss called his attention. He looked over his shoulder and saw Randy standing half in shadow, hands in pockets, eyes keen. At Robot meeting his gaze, Randy jerked his head towards the night, beckoning Robot to follow. 

When Robot went to do so, however, he found his legs abruptly weighted from lack of power, and only his torso turned. 

“Randy,” Robot whispered, “Randy – Oh!” 

Robot had always known Jerry was strong, yet the ease with which he scooped Robot off his feet still came as a surprise. On instinct, Robot wrapped his arms around Jerry’s neck, and the Breaker strode after Randy as discreetly as the situation permitted. Randy led them past the cars parked on the dirt road and into the adjacent field, the moon their only source of light. 

“You remember that ride I wanted?” Randy asked, bringing them over a small incline, which Jerry took in record stride, “For our day trip?” 

“Kinda? I don’t think you actually showed me,” Robot answered. 

“Well, now I’m showing you,” Randy slid to a halt and turned to Robot expectantly. 

From Jerry’s arms, Robot stared blankly at the odd shaped sports car with the roof rack. Then it clicked where he’d seen the vehicle before. 

“Oh!” Robot eyes lit up with recognition, “A Safari.” 

“Yes,” Randy congratulated, “Nicely done, Robot.” 

“Cool.” 

“Cooler than cool,” Randy slid over the hood to open the passenger’s door, Jerry’s cue to move in, “The lease for this puppy was written by amateurs, and let’s just say – there’s seven different hells we can put her through before I lose my deposit.”

“You were always good with numbers, Randy.” 

“You know it, baby,” Randy made it to the driver’s side with another slide, slipping behind the wheel while Jerry settled Robot into his seat. Randy reached over and saved Jerry the awkwardness of strapping Robot in. 

“Now, you kids behave yourselves,” Jerry said, closing the door through the open window, “Don’t go doing anything I wouldn’t do.” 

“Ha,” Randy started the engine and gave her a few revs, “Reverse psychology, I love it.” 

Robot placed his hand on Jerry’s where it rested and squeezed it in gratitude before they both slid away. 

“I’ll catch you later, Robot,” Jerry said, stepping back to give Randy room for takeoff. 

“Bye, Jerry,” Robot called out just as Randy hit the gas with a quick, “Bye Jer bear!” 

And Jerry was left to offer a small wave to the shadow disappearing over the next rise.

...


	7. Something Shadowed

...

There were fewer thrills more potent in Robot’s life than that of playing passenger to Randy’s passion. The sheer, unfiltered joy that radiated off the young man with every drift and stunt was nigh on irresistible. The more air they caught, the harder the r’s rolled off Randy’s tongue, and the wider Robot’s smile grew.

When Randy landed his third triple axel of the night right onto a cliff’s edge, however, Robot finally gave in to the laughter that had been building inside him. 

“Oh, you think this is funny?” Randy challenged, trying to get traction on the rear wheels and prevent their plummet into the rapids below. 

“I do,” Robot admitted brightly, “You have a condition, Randy.” 

“Moo mav a memition mamy,” Randy sucked in a breath when the car tilted forward, “No, no no no no, c’mon – yes!” 

All four tires back on dirt, Randy quickly reversed away from the canyon ledge. 

“And you doubted me,” Randy said as he steered them onto the mountain trail, heading upward. 

“Never said I doubted you,” Robot defended, “I always have faith. I just didn’t see this night ending at the bottom of a river bed, is all.” 

“Fuck you,” Randy huffed, and Robot chuckled, “I’m the best damn driver you’ve ever seen, and you know it.” 

“That is true, I’ll give you that,” Robot conceded. 

“Don’t gotta give what’s already been earned, baby!” 

The rest of the trip was made in peace, the quiet churn of gravel the only disturbance of an otherwise silent night. From their ever growing elevation, Robot watched the world reveal itself below. 

Valleys and deserts created pitted swathes of shadow, dotted by the pockets of humanity that were Sandy and Paleto, and accentuated by the glistening moonlit waters of the Alamo sea. Further still, peeking between the lesser mountains, stood the greatest of the city’s towers, pillars of light unmatched in their splendor. It was a view Robot hadn’t witnessed nearly enough, and was grateful to be granted at least one last opportunity to do so. 

Upon reaching the summit of Mount Chiliad, Randy slowed the Safari to a halt near the observation deck, facing east. 

“Here we are,” Randy announced and unbuckled Robot before popping his door. 

Robot gave his thanks, but Randy was already out of the car and sliding a sack off the roof rack. From the sack, Randy unfurled a large picnic blanket and spread it over the Safari’s hood, securing the top ends to the side mirrors. 

Meanwhile, Robot manually moved a leg out the door, then the other, and carefully used the car’s roll cage to pull himself to his feet. Once upright, he needed a moment to regain his balance, though his wait was a short one. 

Randy came around to lift Robot much as Jerry had, albeit far less elegantly and in need of a great deal more concentration. When he laid Robot atop the blanket, it was with a barely contained sigh of relief. Randy then closed the passenger’s side door and leaned in through the window to tune the radio onto a lofi station. 

Mood set, Randy jogged to the other side of the vehicle and hopped up, snuggling in down beside Robot and bringing them shoulder to shoulder. His hand instinctively sought Robot’s, and their fingers entwined, heads tilted towards each other and gazes fixed on the star painted world above. 

Almost home, Robot thought, fighting the lulling warmth that spread through him. 

“This is nice,” Robot said, trying to keep himself in the present. 

“Yeah,” Randy agreed, “You ever do much stargazing on your own, Robot?” 

“A little.” 

“Sweet. You have a favorite constellation?” 

“Honestly, I’ve never gotten much further than thinking they’re pretty,” Robot admitted. 

“You gotta know the Big Dipper at least,” Randy scooted closer and rested his head fully on Robot’s shoulder, pointing towards the night sky with his free hand, “That giant spoon with the handle?” 

“Oh yeah,” Robot said, following as Randy connected the lines between stars. 

“Bet you didn’t know that actually the ass on Ursa Major, the Great Bear.” 

Robot squinted skeptically, “How is that a bear?” 

“Human imagination,” Randy shrugged, “Lots of people used the stars for navigation and calendar keeping. Probably got real boring real fast having to look up all the time, might as well play Pictionary with their gods. Ooh, but see those stars?” 

“The Little Dipper?” Robot guessed. 

“Bear ass two: smaller boogaloo,” Randy pointed to the brightest of the set, “This time featuring the infamous North Star.” 

“Neat,” Robot said, then raised his arm to slowly trace a pattern of his own, “I like that one.” 

“Have to say, Robot, I don’t know that one.” 

“It’s Enderman Miner.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Randy wheezed and gave Robot a hard nudge, “You fucking nerd.”

“Sorry,” Robot apologized. 

“No you’re not.” 

“You caught me.” 

“God, I hate you,” Randy sighed, relaxing as Robot chuckled beside him. 

“I know.” 

The two laid there in silence for a long moment, content to watch the world spin by. Robot half wished he could pause himself there and then, and just exist forever with Randy’s hand in his. Nothing else really mattered, anyway. Not when it came down to it. 

Then a shrill ring shattered the vibe, and Randy was rolling off the hood. 

He angrily fished his phone out of his jacket pocket and answered with a snapped, “What!? What could you possibly want right now?” 

While Randy started to pace, Robot eased himself into a sit, sliding his feet past the car’s grill. Robot waited patiently for Randy to wrap the call, catching enough to know it was Molly he was talking to. 

After a good minute of reassurances on his end, Randy hung up and pressed the phone to his forehead in a closed fist, looking about ready to send the thing off Chiliad. 

“That Molly?” Robot asked. 

“Yeah,” Randy answered. 

“Everything okay?” 

“Yeah, she just wanted to make sure our disappearing act was intentional,” Randy gave a heavy sigh, “Y’know, Robot, I love our friends, but god forbid they don’t know where the fuck we are at any given moment.” 

“People around us do tend to get kidnapped,” Robot reasoned. 

“You’re not wrong,” Randy conceded and reluctantly slid the phone back into its pocket. He then blew a breath between his lips and considered the ground at his feet. Casually scooping up a handful of pebbles, Randy bounced them in his palm and eyed the cable car dock.

“Ten points says I hit the antennae,” Randy challenged. 

“Bet.” 

“Easy,” Randy said, and thought, until it took lucky number seven to hear the sweet twang of metal. A victory, in Randy’s opinion, well worth the arm pump, “Sick!” 

“That was pretty sick,” Robot agreed. 

“Thank you,” Randy returned his attention to Robot with a small bow of gratitude. Robot echoed the gesture in a nod, not feeling up for much more than that. If Randy noticed Robot’s increased lack of energy, he certainly didn’t comment. Instead he just stood there, gaze wandering over Robot in thought. 

“Feels like it’s been forever,” Randy said, quietly. 

Robot raised a brow at that, “Since when?” 

“Since we met, bro, duh.” 

“All things considered,” Robot said, “It kinda has been.” 

“Yo, you remember how _angry_ I used to be?” 

“Oh yeah,” Robot could recall quite a few times in their early days when Randy’s temper had threatened to get the best of him, their first encounter being one of them, “The Mr. Clean era.” 

“We promised to forgo any memory of that look, Robot. It’s best you keep that promise,” Randy warned, “But wow, I could’ve been such an asshole.” 

Robot hummed, “You still kinda are.” 

“Fuck you, dude, you dick.” 

“Still don’t have one.” 

“Oh my god,” Randy laughed and moved to place his hands against the car hood on either side of Robot, leaning into the android’s personal space, “My sweet sweet bot.” 

“Bitch.” 

“Bitch.” 

“Bitch.” 

“Bitch.” 

“Love you,” Robot pecked Randy’s nose. 

“No!” Randy gasped.

“Owned.” 

“That’s cheating!” 

“Owned.” 

“Robot!” 

“Owned.” 

“Fuck,” Randy pressed his brow to Robot’s and stared at him over the rim of his sunglasses, blue eyes bright, “You.” 

Robot simply grinned back, and the pair stayed like that for a second, Randy taking in every minute mark of imperfection that made Robot so fucking perfect. 

“Not that I’m complaining,” Randy said, “But what the hell made you love me.” 

Robot hummed, and his gaze softened as he considered the man before him. 

“You have nice eyes,” Robot concluded, “They’re my favorite. I think I’ve actually spent an entire day gazing into them.” 

“You have,” Randy confirmed, “It was a little uncomfortable, but very flattering.” 

“Oh good,” Robot smiled, “You’re also the greatest bullshitter I know. Absolutely legendary. And you’re not afraid to care about people. You do it your own way, sure, but you get your point across. You’ve a big heart, Randy.” 

Robot gently pressed a knuckle to Randy’s chest, and something stilled in Randy at the touch. 

“You don’t back down from who you are either,” Robot continued, “You ask people to meet you at your level. It gets you into a hell of a lot of trouble, I wish it wouldn’t, but I like that.”

Blinking rapidly, Randy suddenly looked away, swiping his glasses off to press the heel of a palm against his eye. With a deep inhale through the nose, Randy hid his face in Robot’s shoulder and slowly exhaled the same shaky breath. Randy took a few more of these measured breaths until Robot placed a worried hand on his back. 

“Randy?” Robot asked, “You alright?” 

“No,” Randy admitted, water coloring his voice.

“Aw,” Robot turned his face into Randy’s temple, “What’s wrong?” 

“I don’t wanna lose you.” 

“You won’t.” 

“Robot-” Randy pulled back, and Robot was caught under such a deep fear that he had never before seen in Randy’s eyes. 

“Randy,” Robot wasn’t sure what he could do to help, but he reached to cup Randy’s face nonetheless, grateful that he could move his thumbs enough to brush away the wet pooling there. 

“Whatever happens,” Robot promised, “I’ll never not be yours.”

Randy averted his gaze again, though he didn’t break the hold on him, merely wrapped slender fingers around an iron wrist. 

“Hey,” Robot urged softly, and Randy looked back, “It’ll be fine.” 

“Will I?” Randy rasped. 

“Yeah,” Robot kept his voice low, “Maybe not right away, but you will be. I promise. You're not alone, Randy.” 

Tugging Randy’s head forward, Robot leaned up just enough to place a kiss on his partner's brow. Soon as those metal lips left him, Randy surged forward to capture Robot in an embrace. Robot closed his eyes, accepting the familiar hold of the body pressed against his own. 

“Fingle likes to say I changed you,” Randy whispered, “But honestly? I feel like I’ve gotten more than I could ever give.” 

Eventually, when they were able, the two crawled back onto the hood of the car and reclined against the windshield. Pressed once more shoulder to shoulder, palm to palm, the pair settled in to watch the coming dawn. 

With the first flash of gold over the horizon, Randy tightened his hand around Robot’s in an attempt to still the trembles he felt there. They only stopped entirely after Robot sighed and allowed his arm to go limp. 

“Randy,” Robot asked, voice strained and tinny through the speaker on his neck. 

“That’s okay, Robot,” Randy said, just as quiet, eyes glued to the rising sun, “You do what you gotta do, baby. I’m not going nowhere.” 

There was a moment more where Robot fought to stay awake, artificial chest heaving in an attempt to restart the much needed ventilation. Then all the strength seemed to leave him, and Robot slumped weightless into Randy’s side, head lolling onto his partner’s shoulder. 

“… Night, Randy,” Robot managed before the heavy hum of overworked systems winded down, then faded completely. 

And that was it. 

The first breath Randy took was more of a painful gasp, and the second became a low keen cut short. The third was sharp through his nose, then released in a sob. He tried again, but Randy felt as if his soul was shaking apart and he had to close his eyes to keep himself from being torn off the mountain. 

Unable to stop the tears, Randy pressed lips to the back of metal knuckles. 

“Goodnight,” Randy breathed, “I love you.” 

And if Molly asked for a ping, Randy didn’t remember sending it, because they found him, somehow, and the weight of their grief atop his own crushed anything left beating within him.

.♥. 


	8. Something Bright

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos to anyone who's made it this far. Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you've enjoyed it in some way! xoxo Honestly, this all came from the pain of having to sit through Khloe's trial with Robot a sneeze away from death for the longest time.

.♥.

Gertrude sat with him that first day. Her own tears frequent, but silent. Then the news had gone public, forcing Randy to flush his phone down the toilet to silence it – which had Molly on his doorstep within the hour. There were others, of course there were, with condolences, and love, support, confusion, anger, a whole plethora of emotion that Randy simply lacked the energy to deal with.

Thankfully, eventually, those around him received the message that space was wanted. Though that had led to the far worse realization of how empty the world had become. Their homes were too big, the city too small, and there were both too many or too few reminders in either. Even in what little sleep he manged, there was no solace to be found. 

Then Randy received a notice from the court.

So, he'd dressed and dragged his ass from bed for the first time in days, and found himself standing behind the counter of a temporarily closed Robot Retail – manila folder in hand. When he had helped Robot write the thing, Randy hadn’t actually believed he would ever be called upon to read it. Officially. 

Yet, there he was. 

Sighing, Randy set the document down and pulled the stool over to sit. He braced his face between his hands and stared at the sealed Last Will & Testament. He _really_ did not want to open it, summons be damned. Wading through the veritable mountain of flowers and memorials outside had been bad enough already. 

So of course the damn door chimed with a customer.

“We’re closed,” Randy called absently. 

“Like I give a shit.” 

“Wh-” Randy’s hands slammed down onto the Will protectively as he sat upright, finding the old man stood before him, “Fingle?” 

“One and only,” Fingle greeted.

A flash of chrome caught Randy’s eye, and he noticed the stolen Mule parked outside. 

“I see you’ve decided to return the truck,” Randy slouched into his seat, “How unexpectedly decent of you.” 

“Oh, shut up,” Fingle rolled his eyes, “Where’s Robot?” 

Any energy he had had promptly left him, and Randy placed his head back in his hand. 

“Fingle…” 

“ _What?_ Oh,” Fingle glanced around the darkened store and visibly shivered, “Alright, where’s the body?” 

“Excuse me?” Randy hissed, gaze narrowing dangerously. 

“Don’t tell me you idiots buried him or some shit. What,” Fingle leaned to look past the shelves, “He in the freezers?” 

“The fuck do you care?” 

“Don’t get pissy with me,” Fingle warned, moving to place his hands on the counter, “I texted you.” 

“No, you didn’t,” Randy bit back. 

“Uh – Yeah, pretty sure I did.” 

“No,” Randy said, slowly, as if to an even more senile elder, “You definitely did not.” 

Fingle lifted his lip in a sneer, “Just because you can’t read-” 

“I’m a lawyer!” 

“Lawyers don’t read!” 

“Okay, Fingle,” Randy slammed his elbows onto the counter and massaged his aching temples, “Normally I would be so down for the back-and-forth, but it is taking _everything_ I have left not to be curled into a ball and three knuckles deep in some Moose Tracks right now. For the love of whatever eldritch being controls you, get to the point.” 

“You should’ve called,” Fingle said simply. 

“I did,” Randy was on his feet, “Molly did. Even Gertrude!” 

“I’m old!” 

“You’re always old!” 

“Do you want your stupid boyfriend back or not?” 

“I would, very much, please and thank you – didn’t mean to yell,” and Randy was once more seated, “Now, what the fuck are you talking about?” 

“That’s more like it,” Fingle nodded, then produced a drill from god knows where, “I’m gonna save Robot.” 

Okay.

“You couldn’t. Remember?” 

“I can now,” Fingle insisted. 

“You made it very fucking clear to us-” Randy leaned forward, and Fingle actually retreated a step, “That you _couldn’t_.” 

“I was just messing with ya-” 

“ _Fingle_ ,” Randy seriously did not have it in him, “Please.” 

“Oh for crying out loud,” Fingled turned with a huff, waving for Randy to follow, “C’mon, ya big baby, I’ll show you.” 

Whatever Randy had expected, it certainly hadn’t been for Fingle to open the back of the Mule and reveal a vaguely human shaped bundle of wires and plastic, and one full on Switch Lite embedded into the chest. All nestled atop boxes of spoiled fish, milk, and Bi Biweekly’s. 

The stench was horrendous, the implications were wonderfully overwhelming. 

“Uhhh -?”

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, it’s just the guts,” Fingle reclosed the Mule, “Now, where is he?” 

Wrapped in a tarp on the garage workbench of the house, where he was being kept under lock and key until they could get city clearance to use the Foundry as requested. 

“Well, this is creepy,” Fingle commented, standing opposite of Randy in the aforementioned garage. Beside him on the floor was Robot’s new framework, sitting just as eerily against the bench’s leg. 

“You’re telling me,” Randy said, hands on hips, “Do you have any idea what this’ll do to the house’s market value if the HOA finds out?” 

“No,” Fingle answered and hefted his (also stolen) heist bag onto the bench. With Randy’s hesitant help, Fingle flipped Robot’s body onto its front, and made short work of the tarp with a box cutter, exposing Robot’s back. 

“So,” Randy ventured, choosing to check on traffic rather than watch, “What’s the plan here?” 

“Simple,” there was the clinking of tools as Fingle setup, “Pry him open, scrape out the old, plug in the new, do a manual transfer. You got a car battery laying around?” 

“Maybe. Why?” 

“You don’t wanna know, Randy, trust me.” 

“I’m certainly trying to.” 

Anticipating the usual soundboard of Fingle’s improvised drill effects to start up, Randy nearly had a heart attack at the full on rev of a very real buzz saw. 

“WHOA whoa whoa whoa,” Randy dipped into Fingle’s line of sight, “FINGLE!” 

The power tool powered down with a whir, and Fingle lifted the welder’s mask he’d donned for the occasion, “What?” 

“Do you _know_ what you’re doing?” Randy insisted. 

“Eh,” Fingle shrugged, and the mask went down as the saw returned with a vengeance, forcing Randy to look away lest he be sick.

… 

Four notes and a chime, and Robot opened his eyes.

Which was in and of itself, quite the surprise. A very welcomed, very pleasant one at that. 

Huh.

The next thing to register – besides that yes, he was indeed alive – was the fact that he was also sat in the sun of his own kitchen. Further more, he was at the dining table, which had been moved onto the tile, and he was far from alone. 

Across from him sat Randy. Who was sound asleep on the table, cold coffee abandoned nearby, and hand stretched under Robot’s, their fingers loosely curled together. At the sight, something tender blossomed in Robot, and he pulled Randy’s fingers further into his own. 

“Randy?” Robot prompted softly. 

Randy stirred, though didn’t wake, only stretched his shoulders and pressed his face further into the crook of his arm with a content sigh. 

“Ran~dy,” Robot called, reaching out to tuck a few messy blond strands behind Randy’s ear, “You shouldn’t sleep here. You’re gonna hurt your back.” 

“Mm,” Randy grumbled unintelligibly against his elbow.

“What was that?” 

“Just five more min-” Randy jolted awake with a gasp, wild eyes unfocused before they settled on Robot and he went breathless. 

“Robot?” Randy wondered, and Robot smiled, soft and kind. 

“Hello, Randy.” 

Randy erased the space between them, throwing his arms around Robot’s neck and nearly sending them both to the floor with the strength of the embrace. Robot readily returned the hug, relishing the feel of the body against his. Then, just as quickly, Randy pulled away as he slid his hands to take a hold of Robot’s face, desperate gaze turned searching. 

“You all there?” Randy asked.

“Hmm,” Robot wracked his memory, pleased at the speed with which he could do so, “Think so.” 

“Good.” 

And Robot surged up into the kiss, the relief and adoration pouring between the two in that simple, needed connection. 

“Never,” Randy breathed when they parted, pressing their foreheads together, “Ever, ever ever fucking do this to me again, Robot, you hear me?” 

“I do,” Robot promised. 

“I swear to god,” Randy opened joyfully wet eyes to stare into Robot’s, “I do _not_ like my life without you in it.” 

Robot reached to gently brush the tears from Randy’s cheeks, then smiled warmly up at him. 

“Love you, Randy.” 

“You have no idea how much I love you, too,” Randy placed a softer, less desperate kiss upon Robot’s brow, then peppered Robot’s face with affection, “Fuck you, and your stupid fucking perfect perfectness, god, I love you!”

Robot chuckled and Randy stood upright, moving his hands to take Robot’s. Seeing the ease with which Robot followed Randy to his feet had the young man beaming.

“Looking good, Robot,” Randy teased, “How you feeling?”

Keeping a hold of Randy, Robot rotated the left ankle, then the right, and found both rolled on the joint with ease. His strength, his charge, heck even his optical and audio inputs were returned to what they’d been before his battery had gone kaput, if not better. And if he wasn’t mistaken, that was a wifi signal in the corner of his mind. 

“Great,” Robot answered, honestly. 

“Me too!”

“What happened?” 

“Wh-” Randy’s smile dropped, “You don’t know?” 

“Randy, the last thing I would remember was the sunrise on Chiliad.” 

“Oh,” Randy huffed, duh, “Fingle.” 

Okay, “Fingle?” 

“Fingle,” Fingle concluded, shutting the bathroom door hard behind him, “As in your creator. Twice over. You’re welcome. How’s the new framework treating you? Not that _you’re_ grateful.” 

“So far, so good,” Robot said, “And I am grateful, Fingle. I’m just a little confused is all. You said before that there was nothing you could do.”

“And there wasn’t,” Fingle reaffirmed, “Do you know how long it took to rebuild you from scratch based off vintage schematics that I drew while high on crack cocaine? Answer: More.” 

“More?” 

“More! More than you had, at least,” Fingle insisted, and Robot worried for a second that the old man was stroking, “I said you’d die, and you did. Now you’re not. Again, you’re welcome.” 

“Fingle, are you okay?” Randy asked. 

“No!” Fingle stormed to the fridge and pulled out a bucket of week old chicken, “I’m tired, and hungry, and unappreciated, and I’m gonna go home and take a nap before I shit myself.” 

“Is the nap to prevent the pant shitting, or just a precursor?” 

“I can’t wait til you’re my age,” Fingle grumbled at Randy, then opened the front door. Before he could walk out, however, Robot stopped him. 

“Fingle.” 

Fingle threw his head back with a sigh, but looked over anyway. 

“Thank you,” Robot said. 

“Yeah, well,” Fingle fidgeted in the doorway, “I was bored. Don’t expect me to do it again, and you owe me.” 

“10% discount on repair kits.” 

“100.” 

“12.” 

“50.” 

“15.” 

“Deal. I love you,” Fingle stepped over the stoop and slammed the door shut. 

“Well,” Randy said to break the ensuing silence, “I don’t know about you, baby, but I could do with a day in. Just the two of us.” 

“That sounds nice,” Robot agreed, “Ooh, maybe we can finish cleaning the bedroom!” 

“We could, we could, Or…” Randy presented the remote for the VHS player for consideration, “We can finally find out if Becky’s baby bump derails Jesse’s career.” 

“That too.” 

A shake and a hop had Robot settled into his usual spot on the couch, a loungwear boyfriend snug against his side. Despite the continuance of the marathon being his suggestion, Randy left Robot to hit play while he busied himself on a suspiciously familiar smart device. 

“Is that my phone?” Robot asked. 

“No,” Randy said around a chewed hoodie string. 

“Alrighty,” Robot accepted, and Randy grinned. 

“By the way, I know I said just us, but this place might become a Hive nest very very soon,” Randy warned. 

“I’m okay with that if you are.” 

“Badass.” 

“But god help whoever walks through that door with Cluckin' Bell.” 

“Noted.”

Sinking into the cushions, Robot allowed himself to be lulled by the dulcet tone of John Stamos, and the breathing warmth next to him. Only five minutes in, however, and Robot was startled by a pop-up entering his vision. Though Robot went from _huh_ to _oh_ pretty quick when he actually read the message. 

Robot mentally clicked, ‘ _no_ ’, and returned to the show, but ninety seconds later, and the pop-up returned. Again, Robot hit ‘ _no_ ’, and was prompted with a second window, ‘ _You sure? y/n_ ’. Absolutely mistrusting of the intent, Robot simply closed without a proper answer and tried to concentrate on Bob Saget's nasal delivery. 

Then the doorbell rang, and Randy was rolling to his feet, giving Robot a quick kiss on the cheek before going to answer. In that same instant, two more messages blocked Robot’s view. 

‘ _lil B*tch_ ’ 

‘ _bank?_ ’ 

Life was, Robot decided, far too short for some, and far too long for others. 

END

.♥.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *update: decided to try and fix some of the grammar mistakes, and I just wanted to say a very big extra Thank You to everyone - I honest to goodness expected little to no traffic on this, and the fact that so many of you enjoyed this has me melting ♥♥♥


End file.
